

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 





















* 


<r& 


Ai*. 


® y 7«4' 


CRITERION 


OR, 


HOW TO DETECT ERROR 


ARRIVE AT TRUTH. 


■LI- 

BY REV. J/ 5 ALMES. 


TRANSLATED BY A CATHOLIC PRIEST. 


c ‘ - 

\j/' 



NEW YORK: 

P. O’SHEA, 37 BARCLAY STREET AND 42 PARK PLACE 
.i875- 









Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1815, by 
P. O’SHEA, 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 




CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

• 9 


Translator’s Preface. 

CHAPTER I. 

Preliminary Observations. 13 

§1. On thinking correctly. What is truth?—§2. Diverse ways of 
knowing truth ?—§3. Diversity of minds.—§4. Our perfection in 
an art depends on the knowledge we have of its various parts.— 
§5. It is important for all men to think correctly. —§6. How the 
art of thinking correctly is to be taught. 

CHAPTER II. 

On Attention. 19 

§1. Definition of attention ; its necessity—§2. Advantages of at¬ 
tention ; evil consequences that flow from the opposite fault— 
§3. How we are to be attentive ?—§4. Interruptions. 

CHAPTER III. 

Choice of a Profession ... . 23 

§1. Indefinite meaning of the word “talent.”—§2. Instinct shows 
us the profession for which nature has most fitted us.—§3. How 
the talent of a child may be discovered. 

CHAPTER IV. 

On Possibility. 27 

§1. Classification of our intellectual acts ; questions that may pre¬ 
sent themselves. —§2. Classification of the ideas of possibility and 
impossibility. §3. In what does absolute impossibility consist ? 
—§4. Absolute impossibility and divine omnipotence.—§5. Abso¬ 
lute impossibility and the doctrines of faith.—§6. Physical or na¬ 
tural impossibility.—§7. How we can know that a thing is natur¬ 
ally impossible.—§8. Solution of some objections against the mir¬ 
acles of Christ. —§9. Moral or ordinary impossibility.—§10. The 
impossibility of common sense. It is improperly confounded with 
moral impossibility. 

CHAPTER V. 

Questions regarding existence. Knowledge acquired through 

the immediate testimony of our senses. 37 

§1. Necessity of the testimony of our senses. Different modes in 








IV 


CONTENTS. 


which they show us objects.—§2. Errors into which our senses 
may lead us. Means to avoid these errors. Examples.—§3. In 
some cases it is necessary to compare the testimony of several senses 
ses with each other before we form an opinion.—§4. Men who are 
healthy in body and sick in mind.—§5. Sensitive impressions that 
are not produced by any external object. Explanation of this 
phenomenon. — §6. Maniacs and persons absorbed in themselves. 

CHAPTER VI. 

Knowledge acquired indirectly through the medium of our 

senses. . 46 

§1. Transition from that which our senses perceive to that which 
they perceive not. §2. Coexistence and succession. —§3 Two 
rules regarding coexistence and succession. — §4. Observations on 
causality. A law of dialectics. — §5. An example. §6. Reflec¬ 
tions on the foregoing example. —§7. The cause of an act which 
seems to be the result of mere instinct. 

CHAPTER VII. 

Logic in harmony with charity. 57 

§1. Wisdom of the law which forbids rash judgment. §2. Value 
of the maxim : Believe evil and you will not err.—§3. Some rules 
for judging of the conduct of men. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

On human authority in general . 66 

§i. Two conditions to be observed in order that the testimony of 
men may be trusted.—§2. Examination and application of the 
first rule —§3. Examination and application of the second rule.— 
§4. A remark on self-interest in deceiving.—§5. Difficulty of 
discovering the truth regarding events that took place in remote 
places and times. 

CHAPTER IX. 

On Newspapers . 78 

§1. An illusion. —§2. Newspapers do not tell us all about men and 
things — §3. Newspapers do not tell us all about things or facts. 

CHAPTER X. 

Reliance to be placed on accounts given by travellers. 83 

§1. Distinctions that must be made. — §2. Sources from which some 
travellers draw their information.—§3. The true manner of study¬ 
ing a country. 







CONTENTS. 


v 


CHAPTER XI. 

History. 90 

§i. A means that will save time, aid the memory and preserve us 
from error in the study of history - §2 Distinction between the 
substance of a fact and the circumstances connected with it. Ap¬ 
plications.—§3. Rules to be observed in the study of history. 

CHAPTER XII. 

General considerations on the manner of knowing the nature, 

properties and relations of things. IOO 

§1. Classification of the sciences. — §2. Scientific prudence ; how it 
is to be acquired. -§3. Sages recalled to life. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

On the faculty of perception. no 

§1. The idea.—§2. A rule for correct perception.—§3. Danger of 
adhering too rigidly to the analytic method. — §4 The dyer and 
the philosopher.—§5 Objects seen from only one point of view. 
—6. Disadvantages that may result from quickness of perception. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

On judgment . 121 

§1. Nature of judgment Sources of error —§2 False axioms — 
§3, Propositions that are top general —§4 Inexact definitions. — 
§5. Words whose meaning is not sufficiently defined. Meaning 
of the word equality —§6 Gratuitous suppositions. The preci¬ 
pice.—§7. Prejudice in favor of a doctrine, 

CHAPTER XV. 

On reasoning . 139 

§1. Value of dialectic rules —§2. The syllogism.—Remarks on this 
form of reasoning. - §3. The enthymeme —§4 Remarks on the 
middle term. — §5. Utility of dialectics. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

It is not by reasoning alone that truth is discovered.. 146 

§1. Inspiration §2. Meditation.—§3. Invention and instruction.— 
§4 Intuition. —§5. Difficulty of discovering truth. The chess¬ 
players. Hannibal’s serpent —§6 Rules for meditating.—§7. 
Nature of gifted intellects. A remarkable doctrine of St. Thomas 
ofAquin.—§8. Necessity of study. 

CHAPTER XVIT. 

Instruction. 156 

§1. The two-fold object of instruction. Professors.—§2. Talents 









VI 


CONTENTS. 


that are hidden from others and from ourselves.-§3 Means for 
discovering hidden talents. How they should be appreciated.— 
§4. Necessity of elementary studies. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

On invention . . 166 

§1. What they have to do who possess creative talent.—§2. Scien¬ 
tific authority.—§3. How scientific authority has been modified 
in our times. —§4. The talent of invention. The career of genius. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

The intellect, the heart and the imagination. 171 

§1. Discretion to be observed in the use of the faculties of our soul. 
Queen Dido. Alexander.—§2. Influence of the heart on the mind. 
Causes and effects —§3. Eugene. One day’s life. - §4. Don Mar- 
cellino and his political changes —§5. How Anselm changed his 
opinions on the subject of capital punishment.—§6. Some obser¬ 
vations calculated to put us on our guard against the evil influ¬ 
ences of the heart. - §7. Sudden transition from friendship to en¬ 
mity.—§8. Political opinions.—§9. The danger of extreme sensi¬ 
tiveness. Great talents Poets.—§10. The poet and the clois¬ 
ter.—§11. Necessity of having well settled ideas.—§12. Duties 
of orators, poets and artists.—§13. Ideas clothed in images. Il¬ 
lusions. 


CHAPTER XX. 

On the philosophy of history. 203 

§1. In what the philosophy of history consists. Difficulty of master¬ 
ing it —§2. A means for making progress in the study of the 
philosophy of history.—§3. Application of the foregoing to the 
history of the human mind - §4 An example taken from the 
physiognomy of man, which illustrates what has been said about 
the study of the philosophy of history. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

On religion. 210 

§1. Folly of those who are indifferent about matters of religion.— 
§2. Indifferentists confronted with the human race.—§3. Transi¬ 
tion from indiffeientism to inquiry.—§4. It is impossible that all 







CONTENTS. 


vii 

religions should be true.—§5. All religions cannot be equally ac¬ 
ceptable to God.—§6 It is impossible that all religions should 
be purely human inventions. -§7. Revelation is possible.—§8. So¬ 
lution of a difficulty against revelation.—§9. Results of the pre¬ 
ceding paragraphs. -§10. Existence of revelation - §11. Histori¬ 
cal proofs for the existence of revelation.—§12. Protestants and 
the Catholic Church.—§13. An erroneous method of reasoning 
pursued by some enemies of the Catholic Church.—§14. The 
highest philosophy in harmony with religion—§15. He who 
leaves the Catholic Church, does not know where to go. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

The practical Intellect. . 229 

§1. Classification of our actions. §2. Difficulty of proposing to 
ourselves a proper end. - §3. Examination of the saying : Every 
man is a child of his own actions. — §4 The hated man. — §5. Fi¬ 
nancial ruin.—§6. The learned beggar and the ignorant million¬ 
aire.—§7. Observations. Sophistry and good sense.—§8. Deli¬ 
cacy of some intellectual phenomena. Their influence on our 
conduct.—§9. Blunders.—§10. Extravagant intellects. -§11. Un¬ 
fitness of such men for business. -§ 12. These defects ordinarily 
proceed from a moral cause. -§13. Christian humility in its rela¬ 
tions to worldly affairs. §14. Evils caused by vanity and pride. 
—§15. Pride.—§16. Vanity.—§17. In practical life the evils of 
pride are greater than those of vanity.—§18. Pride contrasted 
with vanity — §19. How common the passion of pride is among 
men.—§20. Necessity of struggling incessantly against this vice. 
§21. It is not pride done that hinders us from proposing to our¬ 
selves a proper end in what we do. §22. Development of our 
hidden forces. —§23. In proposing an end to ourselves, we must be 
on our guard against presumption and excessive diffidence of our¬ 
selves.— §24. Laziness.—§25. An advantage which laziness has 
over the other passions.—§26. Source of laziness. — §27 Intellec¬ 
tual sloth.—§28. Reasons that confirm what we have said re¬ 
garding the origin of sloth. - §29. Inconstancy. Its origin. — 
§30. Proofs and applications.—§31. The medium between the 
two extremes —§32. Sound morality is the best guide of the 
practical intellect.—§33. The harmony of the universe preserved 
through punishment. —§34. Remarks on the advantages and dis- 




CONTENTS. 


viii 


advantages of virtue in practical life.—§35. Virtue defended 
against an unjust charge.—§36. Knowledge defended against 
a false accusation.—§37. Passions are very useful instruments, 
but dangerous counsellors.—§38. Hypocrisy of the passions.— 
§39. Examples. Vengeance under two forms.--§40. Precautions. 
—§41. Hypocrisy of man towards himself. —§42. Knowledge 
of one’s self —§43. Man dislikes the knowledge of himself.— 
§44. Happy results of the study of the passions. —§45. How wisely 
the Christian religion directs man’s conduct. — §46. Moral senti¬ 
ments a help to virtue.—§47. A rule to be observed in forming 
practical judgments — §48. Another rule. —§49. Man laughing at 
himself.—§50. Perpetual childhood of man.—§51. Internal vicis¬ 
situdes of Don Nicasio within a few hours. —§52. Sentiments 
alone are not a safe rule of conduct.—§53. Not sensitive impres¬ 
sions, but reason and morality must be our rule of conduct.— 
§54 A sentiment that is good in itself, may become bad by being 

developed to excess—§55. Science useful in practical life_ 

§56. The inconvenience of embracing too much in our studies.— 
§57. Strength of will.—§58. Firmness of will.—§59. Firmness, 
energy, impetuosity.—§60. Conclusion and recapitulation. 


TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE. 


We deem it unnecessary to give a lengthy 
statement of the motives that have induced us to 
present the following work to the English-speak¬ 
ing public. J. Balmes holds an enviable position 
among the writers of the present century. As a 
profound, solid, original thinker, few, in his time, 
were his superiors. The writings of truly great 
men cannot be too widely circulated, especially 
at a time when books, that neither enlighten 
the mind nor improve the heart, issue from the 
press in such prodigious numbers. The “ Crite¬ 
rion ” has never, we believe, appeared in an 
English translation. We do not claim for it a 
place among the most important works of Balmes, 
but friends, whose opinions we deemed entitled 
to respect, urged us to undertake the translation 
of it into English. The fact, moreover, that the 
little volume has gone through numerous editions, 
in Spain, Italy, France and Germany, seemed to 





10 


PREFACE. 


us to prove conclusively that it serves a useful 
purpose, and supplies a want that has been wide¬ 
ly and deeply felt. 

The book cannot properly be called a work on 
philosophy. It deals with no abstruse questions of 
Metaphysics, nor is it exactly a treatise on Logic or 
Ethics, though it enters somewhat into the sphere 
of both. It was chiefly intended for those who are 
unable or unwilling to go through a regular course 
of philosophical studies. It is not possible, nor 
is it perhaps desirable, that every man should be 
a profound philosopher, but it is important for 
every man to make a judicious use of the various 
faculties with which God has endowed him to 
lead him on through life; it is important for 
every man who thinks, to think soundly ; for every 
man who acts, to act according to the laws of 
prudence. The object of the present work is to 
show how this can be done by all, even the most 
ignorant and unlettered. The book might, there¬ 
fore, not improperly be called a practical philoso¬ 
phy for the people—for that very large class of 
men who cannot secure for themselves the ad¬ 
vantages of a thorough collegiate education. It 
points out the importance of thinking correctly 
on the various questions that daily present them- 


PREFACE. 


I 


selves in practical life, the errors of judgment 
into which men most frequently fall, the sources 
from which these errors ordinarily proceed, and 
it gives rules—neither numerous nor abstruse, 
but few and adapted to every one’s capacity— 
which will enable us to avoid these errors. It 
thus trains a man to logical habits of thought, 
and enables him to acquire, without much labor 
or severe application to study, a solidity of judg¬ 
ment that cannot be otherwise than beneficial in 
real life. 

By following the rules which it lays down, every 
one will be enabled to extend his sphere of useful 
knowledge; he will generally judge correctly on 
all questions that concern him in politics, history, 
philosophy or religion ; he will acquire a praise¬ 
worthy independence of thought, and he will be 
in no great danger of being led into error by 
mere charlatans and sophists. 

It will be observed, however, that the author’s 
aim in the work is to teach the reader how to act 
rather than how to think, conformably to the 
dictates of sound reason. In many chapters, but 
chiefly in the last, he points out the influences by 
which man is affected in his daily life ; he shows 
the power which passions have over him for good 


12 


PREFACE. 


or evil—shows how dangerous they are when not 
properly directed, and how useful when under the 
control of enlightened reason. 

It thus takes in the whole man. By teaching 
him how to cultivate his mind and heart, Balmes 
shows him how to become perfect, how to be¬ 
come, as he expresses it at the end of the book, 
a man par excellence, who lives in a manner 
worthy of man as a rational and moral being, 
turns whatever powers God has given him to the 
highest use, and thus accomplishes the glorious 
mission marked out for him by his Maker. 

In conclusion, we will add, that we have en¬ 
deavored to give the author’s thought faithfully. 
Perhaps we have succeeded, but if we have failed, 
we can only regret that the book did not fall into 
the hands of a more competent translator. 


Chapter I. 


[^PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 

§. I. ON THINKING CORRECTLY.-WHAT IS TRUTH ? 

Thinking correctly consists in knowing truth, or in 
giving to the mind the direction that will lead it to 
truth. Truth is the reality of things. He that knows 
things as they are in themselves, knows truth ; he that 
knows them differently, is in error. To know that there 
is a God, is to know a truth, because God exists; to 
know that the variety of the seasons depends on the re¬ 
volution of the earth around the sun, is to know a 
truth, for it is the sun that causes the various seasons 
of the year; to know that filial piety, obedience to just 
laws, honesty in making and observing contracts, fidel¬ 
ity to friends, are virtues, is to know so many truths, as, 
on the contrary, it would be error to assert that want of 
good faith, ingratitude, injustice are in themselves deserv¬ 
ing of praise. 

Whoever "would think correctly must strive to know 
truth, i. e., the reality of things. Of what use are sub¬ 
tle and profound treatises, if there are no realities cor¬ 
responding to the ideas expressed in them ? The simple 
peasant and the modest artisan, who understand their re¬ 
spective professions thoroughly, will think and speak of 
them much more correctly than the self-conceited phi¬ 
losopher, who, in words of learned length and high 





CRITERION. 


sound, pretends to treat of matters of which he is pro¬ 
foundly ignorant. 

§. 2. DIVERSE WAYS OF KNOWING TRUTH. 

Sometimes we know truth only imperfectly, we do not 
see the reality as it is in itself, but in a changed, modi¬ 
fied form ; we attribute to an object qualities which 
it has not, or withhold from it those which it has. At 
some distance from us we see a group of men march¬ 
ing on ; we see their arms glittering in the sun, but we 
do not see their uniform ; we know that they are armed, 
but who are they ? Are they civilians or a regular bat¬ 
talion of troops ?—if troops, to what army division do 
they belong? We do not know ; not seeing their uni¬ 
form, we know the truth about them only imperfectly. 
The distance at which they aie from us, or other causes, 
may lead us to imagine that they wear a uniform, which 
they do not wear; we are deceived, because we attribute 
to them something which they have not. We may, 
moreover, change the object, take one thing to be an¬ 
other, a white covering, for instance, to be a red one ; 
here again we do not know truth, for we change the 
reality. 

The mind that knows truth perfectly, may be likened 
to a mirror that reflects objects precisely as they are in 
themselves. The mind that is a prey to error, resem¬ 
bles a kaleidoscope that deceives our senses by represent¬ 
ing objects that have no existence. The mind, in fine, 
that sees truth only partially, may be compared to a 
mirror that has lost some of its quicksilver; it repre¬ 
sents real objects, but it represents them in a distorted 
condition. 


PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 


5 


§. 3 . DIVERSITY OF MINDS. 

A well-directed mind will see in objects that which is 
in them and no more. Some persons have the faculty 
of seeing a variety of things in each individual object; 
they hear a vague rumor and form a thousand conjec¬ 
tures ; the most insignificant event will furnish them 
matter for endless disquisitions. These persons have 
the misfortune to see whatever is not in an object, and 
nothing that is in it. They may, indeed, be fine schemers, 
but they generally spend their energies in building cas¬ 
tles in the air. Others, again, are subject to the oppo¬ 
site fault ; they see well, but little ; they look only at 
one s ide of an object : if that ^ side-vanishes^- the whole 
object disappears. Such persons generally abound in 
proverbial sayings ; theylfreT - obstinate in their opinions, 
they resembfe^persons who have never gone beyond the 
boundaries of the village in which they were born ; out¬ 
side of the horizon to which they are accustomed, no¬ 
thing exists im.their imagination. A well-balanced, clear 
and comprehensive mind will avoid both extremes; it 
seizes its whole subject^ looks at it from every point of 
view, considers it in all its relations. The conversations 
and the writings of these privileged minds are remark¬ 
able for clearness, precision and comprehensiveness; 
every word they utter contains an idea, and the idea ex¬ 
presses a corresponding reality; they enlighten us, con¬ 
vince us, and leave our minds perfectly satisfied. In 
admitting the correctness of their views we say without 
hesitation : It is as they say, they are right. It is not 
difficult to follow them in the development of their 
thoughts. We walk, as it were, on a road on which we 



16 


CRITERION. 


find, at the proper time and place, a conductor who will 
direct our attention to the wonders that meet us as we go 
on. The matter of which they treat may be difficult, it 
may be abstract ; the path along which they lead us may 
be obscure, it matters not; our conductor is well ac¬ 
quainted with the route, he knows how to lighten our 
efforts, how to make time pass away almost impercepti¬ 
bly ; and though he should lead us into the darkest cor¬ 
ners of the subterranean world, he will hold in his hand 
a torch that will show us the spot where we are and the 
way we are to pursue. 

x.. 

§. 4 - OUR PERFECTION IN AN ART DEPENDS ON THE KNOWL¬ 
EDGE WE HAVE OF ITS VARIOUS PARTS. 

A perfect knowledge of things constitutes, in the sci¬ 
entific order, the learned man ; in the ordinary business 
of life it denotes the prudent man ; in the management 
of public affairs it makes the thorough statesman. It 
may, in general, be said that he will succeed best in any 
^^undertaking, who knows most thoroughly what he is 
about. Every art has its rules according to which it 
must be learned. However low a profession may be, 
there are, nevertheless, various truths connected with it ; 
he that would learn the profession to perfection, must 
strive to make himself acquainted with them. A few ex¬ 
amples will illustrate this. Who, for instance, will be 
the best husbandman ? Doubtless he who understands 
best the properties of the soil, the climate and the plants; 
he that knows best the mode of cultivating the soil 
and the instruments most adapted to this end ; he that 
can make the soil yield the most excellent products in 


PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 17 

the shortest time, the largest quantities and with the 
least expense; in short, he will be the best husbandman 
who knows the greatest number of practical truths con¬ 
nected with husbandry. Who will be the most clever 
carpenter ? Surely he that understands best the quali¬ 
ties of the wood ; he that knows the easiest and best 
mode of working it as well as the art of fitting it to the 
ends for which it is destined ; in a word, he is the best 
carpenter who knows the greatest number of practical 
truths connected with his profession. Who will be 
the shrewdest merchant ? It will be he who knows most 
thoroughly the goods in which he deals, he who knows 
where to get them with the greatest advantage to him¬ 
self; how to preserve them from being injured , how to 
dispose of them in the shortest time with the least trou¬ 
ble and the greatest profit ; he is the best merchant who 
knows the greatest number of truths connected with the 
mercantile profession, and who knows most thoroughly 
the realities of the business in which he is engaged. 

§.5. IT IS IMPORTANT FOR ALL MEN TO THINK CORRECTLY. 

It is clear that the art of thinking correctly is impor¬ 
tant, not for philosophers only, but for all men, what¬ 
ever their condition in life may be. Reason is a gift of 
our Creator ; a precious gift surely, yet a gift that is not 
without danger. It is the light that must show us our 
way in all our undertakings. To keep a watch over this 
light must be one of the leading cares of our life ; if it 
is extinguished we wander in darkness and run the risk 
of losing ourselves. 

We must, therefore, keep our mind carefully exercised, 
for, by inaction, it grows dull and stupid. But on the 


i8 


CRITERION. 


other hand, whilst we supply this sacred flame with the 
nourishment it requires, we must see that it will not 
dazzle us; it must show us the way in which we are to 
walk, but it must not lead us astray. 

§. 6. HOW THE ART OF THINKING CORRECTLY IS TO BE 
TAUGHT. 

The art of thinking correctly is to be taught by exam¬ 
ples rather than by rules. We would ask those who pre¬ 
tend to teach it by a vast array of learned rules and an¬ 
alytical observations, what they would think of a nurse 
that adopts this method, in order to teach children to 
speak, or \talk ? We do not, however, condemn all 
rules , we only wish them to be used sparingly, and we 
pretend that in laying down these rules, we should be 
guided by practical common sense rather than by phil¬ 
osophical pretension. Let examples explain the rules. 
A child pronounces a word incorrectly—what will the 
father or teacher do to correct it? he pronounces the 
word himself and lets the child repeat it after him. Pay 
attention, he says, you must not move your lips in such 
a manner, touch your palate more softly with your 
tongue. Here we have the example accompanying the 
rule, we have the rule as well as the manner of reducing 
it to practise. 


Chapter II. 


ON ATTENTION. 

There are means that help us to acquire truth, and 
there are impediments that prevent us from attaining it. 
The art of thinking correctly, shows us how we must use 
the one and overcome the other. 

§. I. DEFINITION OF ATTENTION-ITS NECESSITY. 

By attention we mean the application of the mind to a 
given object. Whoever would acquire the art of think¬ 
ing correctly, must accustom himself to consider atten¬ 
tively what he is about. The axe that is not laid to the 
tree will not cut; the sickle is useless in the hands of 
the reaper, if it is not applied to the wheat. Our mind 
at times sees objects without paying attention to them ; 
it in a manner sees without looking and hears without 
listening, but knowledge thus acquired is always super¬ 
ficial, generally indefinite and frequently erroneous. The 
mind that is not attentive, is distracted, is, as it were, 
outside of itself and fails to see what is shown to it. It 
is therefore of the greatest importance that we accustom 
ourselves to regular habits of recollection. This recol¬ 
lection is necessary, not only when we are in the study- 
room, but likewise when we are discharging the ordi¬ 
nary duties of life. If we examine matters closely, we 
will find that the reason why we so frequently fail to un¬ 
derstand fully what we hear, see, or read, is not because 


20 


CRITERION. 


nature has not endowed us with sufficient talent, but be¬ 
cause we are too much accustomed to look at things 
superficially. We pay no close attention to what we are 
about; we are in a conversation with a friend ; we hear 
a narration ; our thoughts are wandering about at ran¬ 
dom, our eyes are fixed on a variety of objects, we inter¬ 
rupt the speaker by questions that are not to the point; 
the result is that important circumstances escape our ob¬ 
servation ; when the conversation is over, we have only 
vague, confused 'ideas of the subject spoken of, we are 
not able to repeat it properly. Does the fault lie in a 
want of talent, or in a want of proper attention ? 

§. 2. ADVANTAGES OF ATTENTION-EVIL CONSEQUENCES 

THAT FLOW FROM THE OPPOSITE FAULT. 

The habit of attention develops the powers of the mind 
wonderfully, it in a manner prolongs the hours. By 
means of habitual attention we constantly increase the 
stock of our knowledge ; to it do we owe the clearness 
and precision of our thoughts; in fact even memory it¬ 
self is aided and made perfect by attention. Habitual 
attention produces order and method in our ideas. 

Those who have not acquired this habitual attention, 
do in a manner divide their intellectual forces by apply¬ 
ing them at one and the same time to a variety of ob¬ 
jects ; here they receive one impression, there another, 
and neither is either deep or lasting. As their ideas are 
not intrinsically connected with each other, it follows 
that one does not perfect or throw light on the other— 
not only do these ideas not aid the memory, but they 
confuse the intellect by leaving it nothing definite to lay 
hold on. Every book or pamphlet we read, every con- 


ON ATTENTION. 


21 


versation we are engaged in, every event that takes place 
before our eyes, can convey instruction of some sort; no 
matter how insignificant they may be apparently, the at¬ 
tentive mind discovers rich treasures in them and appro¬ 
priates them to itself; the dissipated mind passes by pre¬ 
cious stones and pearls and takes no notice of them, for 
it knows not their value. 

§. 3. HOW WE ARE TO BE ATTENTIVE. 

Some persons may imagine that the attention we speak 
of, requires great effort on our part. This is a mistake. 
By attention we do not mean what might be called a cer¬ 
tain immovability of mind. The mind is not required to 
rivet itself so closely on an object as not to be able to 
give it up at any moment and with ease. What the 
mind must do, is merely to think seriously and calmly on 
what it is about. This attention is by no means incom¬ 
patible with change or interruption of study or other em¬ 
ployments, or even with recreation. The scholar who 
takes his recreation, does not cease to think ; he only 
leaves off for a time, more severe studies and applies him¬ 
self to others that are less fatiguing. The philosopher 
leaves off the profound study of philosophy in order to 
enjoy for a time the delights of country life. He does 
not give up his habits of recollection ; in the country he 
observes the state of the crops, he observes the country 
people at their work, he sits down and listens in silence 
to the gentle murmurings of springs and brooks or to 
the enchanting music of birds ; this attention relieves 
his mind but does not fatigue it. Not only do I not as¬ 
sert that attention requires such an intense and uninter¬ 
rupted application to any objects as would render the 


22 


CRITERION. 


mind unable to give it up at any moment, but I will go 
further and say, that by distracted persons I mean not 
only those whose great fault is levity of mind, but like¬ 
wise those who are ever absorbed in themselves; the 
former are distracted outside of themselves, the latter are 
lost in themselves, in the darksome recesses of their own 
dreamings. Neither possess the habits of recollection 
of which I speak, the habits of recollection which en¬ 
able us to attach to each particular object the attention 
it deserves. We will invariably find that those persons 
who are habitually recollected, are the most polite in their 
intercourse with their fellow-men. A man’s self-love is 
wounded if we pay no attention to him when he speaks 
to us. It is certain that an act of politeness shows an 
attentive mind, even as a contrary act shows a want ot 
habitual recollection. 

§. 4. INTERRUPTIONS. 

The most profound studies will seldom or never de¬ 
mand so much mental application as that they cannot 
be interrupted without serious injuiy. People some¬ 
times complain of an untimely visit, of an unexpected 
noise which, as they say, cuts the thread of their thoughts. 
This is folly; surely our mind is something better than a 
mere daguerreotj^pe, whose work is spoiled by the slight¬ 
est movement of the body. To some persons this fault 
is natural, in others it is only a vain boast, they wish to 
be regarded as profound thinkers ; whilst in others again 
it proceeds from this, that they are not accustomed to 
concentrate their thoughts on any one object. But from 
whatever cause it proceeds, it is plain that the attention 
required of us must not only be serious, but it must 


CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 


23 


likewise be under the control of reason and common 
sense. Let our ideas not be mere daguerreotype pictures 
but true pictures of the original. What will the painter 
do when he is interrupted ? He will leave off his work 
for a time to> return to it again at pleasure; or is there 
anything that throws a shadow over his picture and de¬ 
prives him of the necessary lights ? He will remove it 
and proceed with his work as though nothing had hap¬ 
pened. 


Chapter III. 

CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 

§. I. INDEFINITE MEANING OF THE WORD {1 TALENT. ” 

Every one ought to choose the profession for which na¬ 
ture has most fitted him. This rule is of great import¬ 
ance ; it has often been neglected and the arts and 
sciences have suffered considerably in consequence. 
Some men imagine that the word ‘‘ talent ” means ab¬ 
solute ability. They suppose that a man who possesses 
abilities for one particular study, must likewise possess 
them for every other study. This is a great mistake. 
Experience teaches that some men have extraordinary 
abilities for some one branch of human knowledge, 
whilst in other branches they either do not succeed at all 
or their success will be very limited, notwithstanding the 
most intense application. Napoleon and Descartes were 
very eminent men, yet there is hardly a single trait in 



24 


CRITERION. 


which they resemble each other. The military genius 
could not well harmonize with the genius of the philoso¬ 
pher, and if the two were to entertain themselves to¬ 
gether, it is probable that neither of them would have 
been pleased with the other ; it is probable that Napo¬ 
leon wonld have classed the profound thinker with those 
whom he contemptuously styled “ideologists.” 

Were we to institute a comparison between talents, 
and to point out the radical differences that exist between 
them, we might write a volume. Experience, however, 
clearly demonstrates the truth of our observations. It 
shows that, each talent has its own degree of strength and 
of weakness. There are few men, we might say there is 
not a single man, who would succeed equally well in all 
stations or professions. We know, moreover, that some 
talents are scarcely compatible with others. A man 
whose turn of mind is to generalize on subjects, will sel¬ 
dom be particular on facts ; he will show no remarkable 
ability whenever there is question of names or dates. 
Let the poet who lives on the contemplation of the sub¬ 
lime imagery of poetry, subject himself to the dry exact¬ 
ness of mathematical studies, will he be able to do it 
with any degree of success ? 

§. 2 INSTINCT SHOWS THE PROFESSION FOR WHICH NATURE 
HAS MOST FITTED US. 

The author of our being has not only endowed us with 
certain faculties ; he has likewise given us an instinct that 
shows us how to use them. Do you experience a plea¬ 
sure in certain occupations ? Do you feel yourself con¬ 
stantly attracted by them ? or do you feel a constant and 
almost irresistible aversion to them ? In either case, pro- 


CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 


25 


fit by the hints which nature gives you : it tells you that 
it has, in the first case, given you the abilities necessary 
to insure success, whilst it has not given them in the 
second. If our senses of taste and smell are not in a 
disordered condition, they will enable us to distinguish 
between the food that is wholesome and that which is in¬ 
jurious. God has not provided less for the soul than 
for the body. Parents, teachers and directors of indus¬ 
trial establishments should pay particular attention to 
this point; its neglect has often produced fatal results. 
It has brought misery and ruin on many. How many 
men are there who might be really eminent if their tal¬ 
ents had been directed into proper channels ? Yet they 
are doomed to obscurity and comparative uselessness, be¬ 
cause they applied themselves to pursuits for which nature 
had not fitted them. Every man ought to examine him¬ 
self. A child of twelve years can tell what employments 
please and attract him most, and what are the studies in 
which he makes the most marked progress and with the 
greatest ease. 

§. 3 . HOW THE TALENTS OF A CHILD MAY BE DISCOVERED. 

Show to children the various productions, the most re¬ 
markable successes of human genius ; observe the effect 
which the sight produces on their minds : you will soon 
perceive what it is that interests them most. You show 
to a group of children the intricate machinery of a clock¬ 
work ; they look at it, admire it, and pass on without 
bestowing on it another thought; but a solitary child re¬ 
mains behind, gazing intently on the object before him ; 
the curiosity with which he examines the various parts, 
the pertinent questions he proposes, his quick perception 


2 6 


CRITERION. 


of the mechanism; all this ought surely to give some 
hints to the careful observer. 

Again, you read some masterly lines of an inspired 
poet. Among your pupils you have a Vega, a Melen¬ 
dez, an Ercilla, a Calderon—see how he brightens up ; 
how his eyes sparkle ; how his breast expands ; how he 
grows excited by emotions of which he is hardly con¬ 
scious. Nature has spoken ; it has pointed out the po¬ 
etic genius. Be careful not to misunderstand the talents 
of a child lest you do violence to them. Two children 
are entrusted to your charge; they may both become 
bright ornaments of society, but bad direction may pre¬ 
vent them from ever rising above mediocrity. The eagle 
and the swallow are both remarkable for the strength 
and the lightness of their wings; but the eagle will never 
imitate the swallow in its flight; nor will the swallow im¬ 
itate the flight of the king of birds. 

.Versate diu quid ferre recusent 

Quid vale ant humeri. 

This advice Horace gives to writers; we would give it 
to all that would make a prudent choice of a profession. 



Chapter IV. 


ON POSSIBILITY. 

§. I. CLASSIFICATION OF OUR INTELLECTUAL ACTS-QUES¬ 

TIONS THAT~MAY pllESENT - THEMSELVES. 

For the sake of clearness we will divide the acts of our 
intellectual faculties into two classes ; namely : those 
that are purely speculative and those that are practical. 
By speculative acts we mean those whose object is mere¬ 
ly knowledge; by practical acts we mean those that di¬ 
rect our actions. When there is question of the mere 
speculative knowledge of a thing, we may ask ourselves : 
ist. Is this thing possible or not? 2nd. Does it exist or 
not? 3rd. What is its nature, what are its attributes and 
relations ? The rules that teach us how to solve these 
questions embrace all that has any relation to speculative 
science. Whenever we perform an action, we have neces¬ 
sarily an object in view; hence the questions arise : 1st. 
What is this object ? 2nd. By what means is it to be 
attained ? I earnestly request the reader to bear this di¬ 
vision in mind, for it will render what follows intelligi¬ 
ble, and it will aid him greatly to establish methodical 
order in his thoughts. 

/ 

§. 2. CLASSIFICATION OF THE IDEAS OF POSSIBILITY AND IM¬ 
POSSIBILITY. 

Possibility. The idea expressed by this word is cor¬ 
relative with the idea of impossibility. In fact, the affir- 


2 8 


CRITERION. 


mation of the one implies the negation of the other. 
The words possibility and impossibility may be applied 
to things considered in themselves or to the causes by 
which they are produced ; the ideas expressed by them 
vary according to the manner in which they are applied ; 
nevertheless the two ideas are closely related to each 
other as we shall see presently. Possibility and impos¬ 
sibility are only intrinsic when applied to being consider¬ 
ed in itself, they are extrinsic when applied to the causes 
by which being is produced. In order to understand 
this more fully, the reader must observe the classifica¬ 
tions we shall make of them in the following paragraphs. 
It may excite surprise that we define the idea of impos¬ 
sibility before we have explained what possibility is. But 
a moment’s reflection will show, that our mode of pro¬ 
ceeding is perfectly logical, for though the word impos¬ 
sibility seems to have a negative sense, yet it expresses a 
positive idea, i. e., the idea of exclusion, of opposition, 
of contradiction, of repugnance between two things. 
When this contradiction ceases, then we conceive what 
is meant by possibility. Hence we ordinarily say this is 
possible, for nothing is opposed to it, it implies no con¬ 
tradiction. Thus the negative leads us to conceive the 
positive,-impossibility shows us what possibility is. Some 
philosophers distinguish three sorts of impossibility, i. e. 
metaphysical, physical and moral impossibility. We will 
accept this division, but will add another to it, viz., the 
impossibility of common sense. Our reason for doing 
this will be seen hereafter. Metaphysical impossibility 
might perhaps be more properly called absolute impos¬ 
sibility, the physical might be called natural and the 
moral, ordinary impossibility. 


ON POSSIBILITY. 


2 9 


§. 3. IN WHAT DOES ABSOLUTE IMPOSSIBILITY CONSIST ? 

Absolute impossibility regards the essences of things. 
In other words, a thing is then absolutely impossible, 
when its existence would imply the absurdity that a thing 
is and is not at the same time. A triangular circle is an 
absolute impossibility, because it would and would not 
be a circle, it would and would not be triangular. It is 
absolutely impossible that five should be equal to six, 
because five would and would not be five, and six would 
and would not be six. A virtuous vice is an absolute 
impossibility, because it would and would not be a vice. 

§. 4. ABSOLUTE IMPOSSIBILITY AND DIVINE OMNIPOTENCE. 

Whatever is absolutely impossible, can, in no case, 
exist. When we say that God is omnipotent, we do not 
mean to say that he can do things that imply a contra¬ 
diction. The assertion that the world does and does 
not exist at the same time, that God is and is not, that 
vice is virtue, and similar absurdities, do not lie within 
the sphere of divine omnipotence. However, when we 
speak of such matters, we ought not, as St. Thomas ob¬ 
serves, to say that God cannot do them, we ought rather 
to say, that they are impossible. It follows from this 
that absolute intrinsic impossibility implies" absolute ex¬ 
trinsic impossibility, for no cause can produce an effect 
that is absolutely impossible. 

§. 5. ABSOLUTE IMPOSSIBILITY AND THE DOCTRINES OF 
FAITH. 

Before we assert that a thing is absolutely impossible, 
we must have very clear ideas of it, otherwise we will be 



>OvO^Y) c 


30 CRITERION. 

exposed to the danger of asserting that there exists a 
contradiction when in reality there is none. He who 
asserts a thing to be impossible, merely because he does 
not understand it, only exhibits the pride and the weak¬ 
ness of his own mind. Let me here draw the attention 
of the reader to the folly of those who assail the mys¬ 
teries of religion, on the ground that they are impossible. 
The dogma of the Blessed Trinity, the mystery of the 
Incarnation, certainly transcend the comprehension of 
human reason, but they are not therefore absurd. One 
God, three divine persons, essentially distinct from each 
other, yet having the same identical nature; how is this 
possible ? We do not know ; but the fact that we do 
not know it, does not authorize us to conclude that it 
implies a contradiction. Have I, before pronouncing 
judgment, understood what this divine nature is, and 
what are the three persons in the Godhead? No, and 
when I attempt to decide whether or not, what is said 
of them be impossible, I find myself in regions with 
which I am totally unacquainted. What do we know 
of the mysteries of the Divinity ? God has revealed mys¬ 
terious truths in order to test our obedience and to check 
the insolence of our intellect. He has not lifted the veil 
that hides from our eyes the world of light and truth, 
which he will reveal to us at the end of our earthly 
career. 

§. 6. PHYSICAL OR NATURAL IMPOSSIBILITY. 

Whatever contradicts the laws of nature, is naturally 
impossible. It is naturally impossible that a stone 
thrown up into the air should remain there suspended ; 
that water left to itself should not rise to its own level ; 


ON POSSIBILITY. 


31 


that a body heavier than fluids, should not sink to the 
bottom, or that the stars remain stationary in their 
orbits. - This is naturally impossible, because it is op¬ 
posed to the laws of nature. God, who has made these 
laws, can suspend them; man caurroir'do'TT; what is 
naturally possible to God may be naturally impossible to 
man. 

§. 7 HOW CAN WE KNOW THAT A THING IS NATURALLY 
IMPOSSIBLE ? 

When we know that there exists a law that prevents 
an effect from taking place, and that this law has not 
been suspended by a contrary law, then we can safely say 
that this effect is impossible. There exists a physical 
law in force of which our body, when unsupported, will 
be drawn to the surface of the earth, because our body is 
heavier than air; but there exists another law, in force 
of which several bodies when united together, may main¬ 
tain themselves erect and even ascend into the air. Thus 
a man in a balloon will ascend on high, and this pheno¬ 
menon is in perfect harmony with the laws of nature. 
The bodies of some insects are so small that they pro¬ 
duce no images on the retina of the eye; but in con¬ 
sequence of the laws to which light is subject, the direc¬ 
tion of its rays may be so modified by means of the mi¬ 
croscope, that these same rays, proceeding from a very 
small point, diverge the moment they touch the retina 
and impress on it an image of considerable size. Hence 
it is not at all impossible that objects which are so small 
as to be imperceptible to the naked eye, are made visible 
by means of the microscope. 

From these observations it follows that we must exam- 


32 


CRITERION. 


ine a thing thoroughly before we assert it to be naturally 
impossible. Let us ever bear in mind, ist, that the forces 
of nature are veiy great; 2nd, that they are to a great 
extent unknown to us. If in the fifteenth century it 
had been predicted that a time would come, when a 
traveller would, by means of compressed steam, make a 
journey in one hour, which at that time could not be 
made in less than ten hours, the prediction would pro¬ 
bably have been derided as absurd ; yet every child that 
travels by railway, knows that the rapidity of its move¬ 
ments is produced by purely natural causes. 

Who can tell what discoveries will be made in future 
times ? Who can imagine what aspect the world will 
present a thousand years hence ? We should certainly 
be slow in believing the existence of extraordinary pheno¬ 
mena, we must not indulge too fondly in golden dreams ; 
but, on the other hand, we must be equally on our guard 
before we assert that to be impossible which a happy dis¬ 
covery may realize to-morrow. 

§. 8. SOLUTION OF SOME OBJECTIONS AGAINST THE MIRA¬ 
CLES OF CHRIST. 

From these reflections we will pass on to consider some 
difficulties raised by infidels against religion. The phe¬ 
nomena, say they, which are called miraculous, are pro¬ 
duced by hidden, but natural causes ; consequently, 
they require no intervention of divine omnipotence, nor 
do they prove the truth of the Christialfr'r^gion. This 
objection is as specious as it is futile. 

A man of low descent who has frequented no schools, 
who lives amid the people and is in constant intercourse 
with them, who is so poor as not even to have a place 


ON POSSIBILITY. 


33 


where to recline his head, who, in a word, possesses 
nothing that constitutes human greatness ; appears before 
the people and announces doctrines as novel as they are 
sublime. He is asked to give proofs of his mission. He 
gives them ; he commands the blind to see, and they 
see, the deaf to hear, and they hear ; he gives speech 
to the dumb, and bids the lame to throw away their 
crutches and go their way. He heals the most incurable 
diseases by his words alone; those who have just died, 
those who are being carried to the place of burial, leave 
their coffins ; those whose remains are mouldering in the 
grave, come forth in obedience to the voice that com¬ 
mands them to arise. Such are the facts which history 
relates of Christ. Will the most obstinate naturalist 
discover in this nothing more than effects of purely na¬ 
tural causes ? Will he maintain that it is folly to believe 
that effects like these can be caused only by supernatu¬ 
ral agency ? Or will he tell us that a time will come 
when the dead will be raised to life, not through the aid 
of science, but merely by the command of a human 
voice? Has the operation of the cataract anything in 
common with the process by which Christ gave sight to 
a man born blind ? Christ orders a man suffering from 
paralysis to take up his bed and walk home; will surgery 
ever adopt a similar method in order to restore to him 
that is lame the use of his limbs ? Will the science of 
hydrostatics or hydraulics ever calm the furious billows 
of the mighty ocean or cause them to spread themselves 
out beneath our feet so that we may walk on them with 
the same security with which the monarch walks over the 
richly carpeted floors of his royal chambers ? 

Need we add to this imposing testimony the prophecies 


34 


CRITERION. 


fulfilled, the sanctity of a most spotless life, the sublim¬ 
ity of the moral law taught by Christ? or the fact that 
an heroic death, submitted to with majestic resignation 
and meekness, crowns a life so wonderful, a life whose 
last sigh is a sigh of love, whose last cry is a cry for par¬ 
don on an ungrateful people ? Ah ! do not speak to us 
of hidden forces of nature, of apparent impossibilities ; 
do not oppose to evidence as clear as daylight the stu¬ 
pid question, “Who knows?" That might be rea¬ 
sonable when there is question of some one particular 
obscure fact that can be variously explained ; but when 
you oppose it to the array of stern facts by which Chris¬ 
tianity meets its adversaries, it not only ceases to be rea¬ 
sonable, but it violates every law of common sense and 
becomes simply absurd. 

§ 9. MORAL OR ORDINARY IMPOSSIBILITY. 

Ordinary impossibility may be said to consist in an 
opposition to the ordinary course of events. This defi¬ 
nition may, however, admit of various interpretations. 
In fact, the idea expressed by the words, “the ordinary 
course, ” is so elastic and applicable to such a variety of 
subjects, that all that could be said of it in general would 
only be of slight advantage in practical life. We will re¬ 
mark that ordinary impossibility bears no relation to ab¬ 
solute or natural impossibility ; a thing may be morally 
impossible, whilst absolutely or naturally it is quite pos¬ 
sible. We will give a correct idea of this sort of impos¬ 
sibility, by saying that an event is then morally impossi¬ 
ble, when in the ordinary course of events it never, or 
hardly ever, takes place. I see, for instance, a respect¬ 
able gentleman before me, of whose name and titles 


ON POSSIBILITY. 


35 


everybody speaks. It is morally impossible that this 
man is an impostor; that his titles are merely assumed. 
Ordinarily speaking, such a deception is impossible, yet 
cases have happened where it has been succesfully prac¬ 
tised. It should be observed, however, that the interven¬ 
tion of extraordinary, unforeseen causes, may so change 
this natural course of events as to make this impossibility 
vanish. An adventurer who has under his command a 
handful of other adventurers like himself, starts off from 
his native country, and lands on unknown shores ; a wide 
Stretch of land, inhabited by millions of people, lies be¬ 
fore him ; he sets fire to his ships and gives the command 
to proceed ; he is determined to conquer a kingdom. 
But how is this possible ? Is the adventurer mad ? Allow 
him to proceed, his madness is the madness of genius and 
heroism. What seems impossible will soon be recorded 
as an historical event. The adventurer is a Spaniard at 
the head of Spaniards ; his name is Fernando Cortez. 
His madness gives Spain a new world. 

§ IO. THE IMPOSSIBILITY OF COMMON SENSE-THIS IS IM¬ 

PROPERLY CONFOUNDED WITH MORAL IMPOSSIBILITY. 

The expression, moral impossibility, has sometimes 
been understood in a sense very different from that which 
we have attributed to it in the preceding paragraph. 
There are facts that cannot be proved to be absolutely or 
naturally impossible. We are nevertheless so thoroughly 
convinced of their impossibility that no demonstration 
could convince us that we are in error. A man throws 
a large number of letters into a box ; we will suppose 
that these letters have all a cubic form in order that there 
may be, for all, the same probability of their falling on a 


36 


CRITERION. 


certain side; he shakes the box repeatedly and lets the 
letters fall out on a table ? Is it possible that in falling 
out, they will so unite together as to form the episode of 
Dido ? Every man of common sense will say at once : 
“It is impossible,—it is absurd to think of it.” So 
thoroughly are we convinced of this impossibility that 
we would not be shaken in our convictions, even if our 
lives had been staked in the wager. Yet in this case 
there is neither an absolute nor a natural impossibility to 
prevent the letters from thus uniting together. That 
they can be thus united, will be shown at once by a type¬ 
setter; on the other hand, there is no physical law to 
prevent them from falling on the same side. We have, 
therefore, an impossibility distinct from absolute and na¬ 
tural impossibility ; and it is clear, that by this impossi¬ 
bility we mean something more than a mere opposition 
to the ordinary course of events. We give it a name 
and call it the impossibility of common sense. 

The theory of probabilities and of combinations throws 
some light on this subject, for it, in a manner, measures 
the immense distance that lies between the possibility of 
a thing and its actual existence. The all-wise and provi¬ 
dent Author of our being has not wished that some con¬ 
victions, which are of the greatest importance to every 
man, should be the result of reasoning and proofs; if 
such were the case, the majority of men would necessa¬ 
rily be deprived of those convictions. God has, therefore, 
given them to us in the form of an instinct. You will 
try in vain to shake them in the rudest of men ; he may 
not be able to refute your sophisms, but he will shake his 
head and say within himself: * ‘ Poor fellow ! that can be¬ 
lieve such nonsense.” Now, if nature speaks to our in- 


QUESTIONS REGARDING EXISTENCE. 37 


nermost soul with such, a clear, imperative, irresistible 
voice, would it not be folly not to listen to it? Fortu¬ 
nately there are only very few men who attempt to raise 
the edifice of philosophy on the ruins of human nature. 
They forget that a philosophy that conflicts with nature 
is no philosophy. They do not seem to understand that 
he who would acquire wisdom by annihilating reason 
and common sense, is sure to end in folly. 


Chapter V. 

QUESTIONS REGARDING EXISTENCE—KNOWL¬ 
EDGE ACQUIRED THROUGH THE IMMEDI¬ 
ATE TESTIMONY OF OUR SENSES. 

§ I. NECESSITY OF THE TESTIMONY OF THE SENSES-DIF¬ 

FERENT MODES IN WHICH THEY SHOW US OBJECTS. 

After having explained the principles and rules that 
must direct us in questions regarding possibility, we will 
pass on to the questions that relate to existence. This 
will open a wider field before us, and we shall have more 
frequent occasions to make practical applications., There 
are two ways in which we may arrive at a knowledge of 
the existence or non-existence of things, viz : through our¬ 
selves or through others. The knowledge we acquire of 
the existence of a thing through our senses may be me¬ 
diate or immediate, for the senses either place an object 
directly before us, or, from the impressions which the ob- 



38 


CRITERION. 


ject produces on our minds, we infer the existence of 
phenomena or facts that lie out of the sphere of direct 
sensitive perception. When I look at a building before 
me, my sense of sight testifies directly to the existence of 
that building. When I see the base of a column or the 
ruined remains of mosaics, an inscription tells me that 
on the spot where I discover these ruins there once 
stood a Roman temple. In each case I owe the knowl¬ 
edge I have acquired to my senses ; in the first case they 
testify directly, in the second, indirectly. Without the 
aid of the senses we cannot even know the existence of 
spiritual beings. Without the senses the intellect is dor¬ 
mant and inactive, for it cannot acquire the knowledge 
of beings either through an act of faith, or through an 
act of reason unless God would come to its aid in a su¬ 
pernatural manner ; but with this supernatural aid we 
are not at present concerned. What we have here as¬ 
serted does not conflict with any of the systems that have 
been advanced on the subject of the origin of ideas. 
Whether we assert that we have innate ideas, or that our 
senses cause our ideas, or that they merely excite them, it 
always remains true that we can know nothing unless our 
senses act on our minds. Let any ideologist attempt to 
tell us in what the activity of a man’s intellect consists, 
if that man is deprived of every one of his senses ! What 
proof will he give us of the truth of his system ? Can he 
even make us understand what the system consists in ? 
Can he explain it either by words or by signs ? It is 
understood that we speak of man in his normal state, of 
man endowed with senses. Experience tells us that 
that man receives his ideas either directly or indirectly 
through the medium of his senses. 


QUESTIONS REGARDING EXISTENCE. 39 


§ 2. ERRORS INTO WHICH OUR SENSES MAY LEAD US- 

MEANS TO AVOID THESE ERRORS-EXAMPLES. 

If the knowledge which the senses give us of objects 
is ever erroneous, it is because we do not use these won¬ 
derful organs as we should use them. By acting on our 
sensitive organs, objects outside of us produce impressions 
on our minds. Let us try to discover how this is done and 
to what extent the existence of an object corresponds to 
the impression. Some examples will explain it. At a 
distance from me I perceive an object in motion. I say : 
It is a man. On approaching I perceive that I am mis¬ 
taken, for what I considered to be a man is a little tree, 
shaken to and fro by the wind. Has my sight deceived 
me ? No, because the impression produced on me cor¬ 
responded perfectly to an object in motion ; had I paid 
proper attention to the impression I might have known 
that it did not correspond to a man. My error does not, 
therefore, proceed from my sight, but from my want of 
due attention. After having noticed a certain similarity 
between an object in motion and a man seen at a dis¬ 
tance, I passed over from the similarity to the reality. 
In doing so, I forgot that there was a wide difference be¬ 
tween realities and appearances. You have reasons to 
suppose that at a certain distance from where you are a 
battle will soon be fought. You hear a noise in that 
direction and are convinced that hostilities have com¬ 
menced. Such, however, is not the case. Whom are 
you to blame for your mistake ? Your sense of hearing? 
No; you have only to blame yourself for forming your 
judgment too precipitately. You have heard a noise ; 
it was caused by a man felling trees in a forest near by ; 


40 


CRITERION. 


it was caused by a gate that was being shut; it was a 
noise very different from that caused by cannon dis¬ 
charging their deadly contents. Had you convinced 
yourself that the noise could not have been caused in 
your immediate vicinity ? Was your ear sufficiently prac¬ 
tised to be able to judge of the effect which distance, na¬ 
tural position and winds have on sound ? It was not 
your sense of hearing that deceived you, it was your 
hasty, inconsiderate judgment. The impression produced 
on your sensitive organ was such as it should have been, 
but you made it say things it did not say. Had you 
said that the noise you heard resembled that of distant can¬ 
nonading, you would neither have deceived yourself nor 
others. A delicious dish is placed before an epicurean ; 
he tastes it and pronounces it bad, disgusting, composed 
of this and that ingredient. In fact, his taste tells him 
that it is so ; does it deceive him ? Not all; if he does 
not relish the dish, it is because an ugly disorder has de¬ 
ranged his organ of taste. A moment’s reflection would 
have prevented him from unjustly blaming his cook. If 
the sense of taste is healthy, the impressions it receives 
will show us the qualities of food, but they will not do 
this when the taste is in a disordered condition. 

§ 3. IN SOME CASES IT IS NECCESSARY TO COMPARE THE TES¬ 
TIMONY OF SEVERAL SENSES WITH EACH OTHER BEFORE 

WE FORM AN OPINION. 

In order that the testimony of our senses may be en¬ 
tirely above suspicion, we must sometimes apply several 
of the senses to a given object and compare their testi¬ 
mony. To distinguish to what extent an object corres- 
sponds to the impressions we had of it, is evidently the 


QUESTIONS REGARDING EXISTENCE. 41 


result of comparison; it is the fruit of experience. A 
blind man on whose eyes an operation has been per¬ 
formed, judges of distances, forms and bulk of bodies, 
only after having for some time exercised his organ of 
sight. We acquire this practice from our childhood 
without even being conscious of it; hence, we believe 
that in order to know an object as it is in itself, it is only 
necessary for us to look at it. A very simple experi¬ 
ment, which we may repeat as often as we choose, will 
show us that herein we are not unfrequently mistaken. 
A grown up person and a child look through an optical 
instrument and see various objects, wild animals, battles 
fought, and so on. Both receive the same impression. 
The man is not terrified either by the wild animals, or 
by the fierceness with which the battle is fought ; he 
knows that he is in his room and that what he sees, are 
not realities ; in fact he even makes efforts to remedy the 
defects of the instrument or to shift the scenery in or¬ 
der to enjoy the view more perfectly. But the child that 
knows nothing of comparisons and attends only to the 
sensation it experiences, becomes agitated at the sight of 
warriors that slaughter each other, and of wild beasts 
which it fears. Nay more : at almost every step we take, 
we observe that a perspective view taken at a correspond¬ 
ing distance from an object, deceives us, we imagine a 
thing to be an object in relief whilst it is only a plane. 
If we reflected that by means of certain laws, a plane 
will produce the same impression on the retina of the 
eye, which is produeed by an object that projects, we 
would not be deceived but would rather admire the skill 
of the artist. Error would be prevented by looking at 


42 


CRITERION. 


the object from different points of view, and by calling 
the sense of touch to our aid. 

§ 4. MEN WHO ARE HEALTHY IN BODY AND SICK IN MIND. 

We are told that we must be on our guard whenever 
we would arrive at truth by means of our senses. The 
senses, it is said, may be in an unhealthy condition and 
lead us into error. This advice is good, but it is not as 
important as is commonly supposed. Sick persons sel¬ 
dom apply themselves to serious studies; their mistakes, 
therefore, are not frequent or fatal. Moreover, the 
very fact that any one of our senses is in a disordered con¬ 
dition, prevents us from receiving its testimony with im¬ 
plicit faith. Those who enjoy bodily health but are sick 
mentally, are the persons that most need to be put on 
their guard. A man may become so wedded to a favorite 
idea, as to subject all his senses to it, and force them to 
make their testimony agree with his idea. An astronomer 
examines the heavenly orbs through the telescope, but he 
examines them not for the purpose of ascertaining their 
magnitude, position and movements, but merely for the 
purpose of discovering a confirmation of some daring 
theory he has advanced. What will not such a man dis¬ 
cover in the planets ? What will not the naturalist dis¬ 
cover with the aid of the microscope, if he is in a similar 
state of mind ? 

Errors of this kind do not necessarily proceed from bad 
faith. In fact men frequently deceive themselves before 
they deceive others. Completely under the control of 
their favorite opinions, influenced by a strong desire to 
show their soundness, they examine matters, not in or- 


QUESTIONS REGARDING EXISTENCE. 43 


der to learn, but to prove that they are right. They gen¬ 
erally manage to discover what they are in search of; fre¬ 
quently their senses either tell them nothing at all or they 
tell them things directly opposed to their favorite theories; 
but it matters not, the least shadow of probability suffices 
to establish them more firmly in their convictions. ‘‘ Thus 
it is, ” they exclaim ; ‘ 1 we have found what we sought, we 
know that it was so.” They will not stifle the doubts that 
arise in their minds; they will attribute them to a want 
of confidence in their unquestionable learning ; they shut 
their eyes to the light, and actually force themselves into 
error. They deceive others though they may not at all 
intend to do so. Whoever has studied the human heart 
will admit the truth of these observations. We deal with 
certain questions with a partiality truly deplorable. Do 
we stand in need of certain convictions ? We will make 
every conceivable effort to force them on our minds. At 
first the work may be hard, the task may seem to involve 
grave difficulties, but by degrees the difficulties grow less, 
pride advances rapidly in order to cut off every possibili¬ 
ty of retreating, and so it happens that error, which we, 
perhaps, combated in ourselves to some extent at first, 
becomes at last firmly riveted on our minds, and we are 
no more than miserable dupes of our vain illusions. 

§ 5. SENSITIVE IMPRESSIONS THAT ARE NOT PROCURED BY 

ANY EXTERNAL OBJECT-EXPLANATION OF THIS PHENO¬ 

MENON. 

It should be observed that error does not always pro¬ 
ceed from the fact that we do not correctly understand 
our sensitive impressions. An over-excited imagination 
may have such an influence over our senses as to derange 


44 


CRITERION. 


the natural course of their functions, and to make them 
perceive objects which in reality do not exist. In order 
to understand how this happens we must observe that 
sensitive impressions are not formed in the organ itself, 
but in the brain, although the force of habit makes us 
ascribe them to the organic part that is affected. If the 
optic nerve is seriously affected by disease, we lose our 
sight, though the eye may be perfectly sound. If the 
communication that exists between any member of the 
body and the brain is stopped, we lose the power of sen¬ 
sation in that member. It follows from this that the 
brain is the centre of sensations. Hence, if the brain 
produces an effect which is ordinarily produced by exter¬ 
nal organs, we must necessarily experience the same sen¬ 
sation which we would have experienced if the external 
organ had performed its regular functions. Let us sup¬ 
pose that one of our organs receives an impression from 
an external object, and that it communicates that im¬ 
pression to the brain by producing in the nerve A the 
sensation B. Now, if through any cause whatever, inde¬ 
pendent of external objects, the nerve A experiences the 
sensation of B, we will necessarily feel the same sensation 
which we would have felt had a real external object acted 
on our sensitive organs. Reason and experience agree 
on this point; the soul acquires the knowledge of exter¬ 
nal objects directly through the medium of the brain, in¬ 
directly, through that of the senses. When, therefore, the 
brain receives an impression, the soul naturally refers it 
to the organ by which it is ordinarily produced. 

When we know that the organs are in an unhealthy 
condition we will be on our guard before we give credit 
to their testimony, nevertheless the impression is made as 


QUESTIONS REGARDING EXISTENCE. 45 

it would be made if the organs were in their normal con¬ 
dition. When Pascal saw an abyss open before him he 
knew that he was deceived, yet he felt all he would have 
felt had a real abyss been there. In spite of all the ef¬ 
forts he would make to overcome the deception, he could 
not succeed. Those that have studied this matter will 
find in it nothing that can cause surprise. 

§ 6. MANIACS AND PERSONS ABSORBED IN THEMSELVES. 

A morbid imagination may lead us into the same errors 
into which diseased brains can lead us. Monomania is 
a phenomenon of this kind. We know that there are dif¬ 
ferent kinds of monomania, and that it does not develop 
itself in the same manner and to the same extent in all 
persons. It may be continual or interrupted, it may be 
ridiculously absurd and it may show itself clothed in the 
garb of gravity, it may affect him who is ignorant, and 
the man of letters, too, is liable to be attacked by it. Don 
Quixote saw a flock of sheep and imagined that it was a 
great army; he fought against windmills and believed that 
he inflicted deadly blows on giants. Carried away by his 
imagination, his fancy, by a sort of mania that tyrannizes 
over him, the man, the astronomer, the naturalist, will 
see in his telescope or in his microscope the most won¬ 
derful as well as the most ridiculous objects. Profound 
thinkers, men who are ever absorbed in meditation, are 
especially liable to be attacked by a sort of scientific mania 
and to become the dupes of magnificent hallucinations. 
Frail humanity constantly carries with it the weight of its 
miseries. The tender-hearted woman, whose nerves are 
affected, hears pitiable sighs in the gentle murmurings of 
the wind ; she sees ghostly spectres in the silvery light of 


46 


CRITERION. 


the moon that reflects itself in the woods ; in the song of 
the night-bird she hears the cry of wicked spirits, who in 
the dead silence of night disturb the poor children of men. 
But, unfortunately, it is not women only that are en¬ 
dowed with such a feverish imagination as to see realities 
in the absurd dreams of their fancy. 



Chapter V I. 


KNOWLEDGE ACQUIRED INDIRECTLY THROUGH 
THE MEDIUM OF OUR SENSES. 




§ I. TRANSITION FROM THAT WHICH OUR SENSES PERCEIVE 


TO THAT WHICH THEY PERCEIVE NOT. 


We owe to our senses the immediate knowledge of the 
existence of very many objects, but the number of those 
objects which are not directly known through the senses, 
is much greater. These objects are either not corporal, 
or they do not lie within the sphere of the senses. The 
structure which is raised in the narrow foundation of the 
knowledge acquired through the senses, is so vast in its 
proportions that the mind on looking at it can hardly 
conceive how it is supported by foundations apparently 
so weak. 

When the senses do not suffice, reason comes to their 
aid, for in that which the senses perceive, reason shows 
us other objects which they do not perceive. The lava 
scattered over a surface shows us a volcano we have not 
seen ; a shell-work, discovered on a mountain, tells us 



COEXISTENCE AND SUCCESSION. 47 

that there have been inundations there ; it reveals a catas¬ 
trophe of which we were not witnesses ; subterraneous ca¬ 
verns lead us to conclude that on the spot where we stand 
men were formerly digging for ore; the ruins of a city 
tell us that men who have long since passed away had at 
one time their habitation there. Thus the senses reveal 
an object to us, and in that object the mind discovers, as 
in a rich shell, treasures of intellectual wealth. It must, 
however, be observed that this transition from the known 
to the unknown cannot be made unless we have already 
a more or less perfect, a more or less general, idea of the 
unknown ; neither can it be made if we do not know 
that between the known and the unknown there exists 
the relation of mutual dependence. Hence, though in 
the preceding examples we had no precise knowledge of 
the volcano, of the waters that inundated the mountain, of 
the miners and the people who inhabited the ruined city ; 
nevertheless we have, at least, a general idea of them and 
of their relation to the objects which our senses perceived. 

From the consideration of the wonderful machinery of 
the world we could not arrive at a knowledge of the Cre¬ 
ator if we had not a general idea of cause and effect as 
well as of constant and perfect order. This observation 
alone overthrows the theory of those who maintain that 
our ideas are no more than transformed sensations. 

§ 2. COEXISTENCE AND SUCCESSION. 

It is only the dependence of objects on each other that 
can authorize us to infer from the existence of one the 
existence of the other. In fact the whole difficulty lies in 
knowing this dependence. If, by a mere glance of the 
L mind, we could penetrate the depths in which the essences 


48 


CRITERION. 


of things lie concealed, it would only be necessary for us 
to look at an object in order to know its attributes and the 
relations in which it stands to other beings. But, unfor¬ 
tunately, this is not the case. The ideas we have of the 
intrinsic elements that constitute beings in the physical 
as well as in the moral order, are very limited and imper¬ 
fect. The essences of things are mysteries over which 
the Creator has carefully spread a veil. In her inner¬ 
most recesses nature conceals her rarest and most precious 
treasures. The fact that we know so little of the nature 
of things, frequently compels us to infer their mutual de¬ 
pendence from their coexistence or from the succession 
in which they follow each other. We say that one thing 
depends on another, because we see that the two gene¬ 
rally exist together, or that one of them follows from the 
other. But in drawing this conclusion, we are not un- 
frequently led into error; for who is the man that has a 
mind so comprehensive and unerring as to be able to say, 
in all cases, that the coexistence or succession of two ob¬ 
jects necessarily implies a connection between the two ? 
The truth is : neither the facts that two things exist to¬ 
gether, or that one follows in the track of the other, are 
in themselves, abstracted from all other circumstances, 
sure proofs of a relation between the two. The evapora¬ 
tions of a rotten herb are commingled with those of a 
healing plant; a poisonous reptile creeps alongside of 
the butterfly with its golden wings ; the murderer who 
flees from justice, conceals himself in the bush where the 
hunter seeks his prey; a light wind refreshes the atmos¬ 
phere and in a few moments more, a violent hurricane 
spreads savage destruction. Would it be reasonable in 
these cases to infer that coexistence or succession implies 


COEXISTENCE AND SUCCESSION. 


49 


mutual dependence? To this illogical mode of drawing 
conclusions must we ascribe the ever-repeated and almost 
always false predictions about changes in the weather; to 
the same source must we trace certain assertions made 
about the probability of discovering water in veins of pre¬ 
cious metals in this or that locality. It may have hap¬ 
pened in some instances that precious metal was found in 
localities which in their physical appearance resembled 
the place pointed out, but from this it does not follow, 
necessarily, that there exists a relation between the two. 

§ 3 . TWO RULES REGARDING COEXISTENCE AND SUCCESSION. 

The importance of the question we are treating of, de¬ 
mands that we lay down some rules connected with it. 

First Rule. When long experience shows that two phe¬ 
nomena always exist together, so that the appearance or 
disappearance of one is simultaneous with the appearance 
or disappearance of the other, then we may reasonably 
conclude that the two are related to each other; conse¬ 
quently, from the existence of one we can legitimately 
infer the existence of the other. 

Second Rule. When one of two phenomena invariably 
succeeds the other, so that the first is always followed by 
the second, and the second can always be traced back to 
the first, then we can safely conclude that they are con¬ 
nected with each other. It would, perhaps, be difficult to 
prove these rules philosophically, but we would request 
those who might be tempted to question their correct¬ 
ness, to bear in mind that sound common sense, the 
highest law of the human race, has ever regarded them 
as rules that may be safely followed ; that science adopts 
them in very many cases; that; in fact, we have no other 


5 ° 


CRITERION. 


rules to guide us in most of our scientific researches. 
The whole world admits that a certain size, form and 
color indicate the ripeness of fruits. What does the 
countryman know of the relation that exists between size, 
color and form of fruits and their ripeness? How does 
he infer from these qualities that they show the quality of 
ripeness which he has not discovered by his sense of 
taste ? Let him explain to you the grounds on which he 
bases his conviction of their ripeness; he will be unable 
to do it. Tell him that he is mistaken, that the fruits 
are not ripe; he will smile at your learned arguments and 
tell you that it is you, who are mistaken, not he. How 
does he know this? From the fact .that it ahvays hap¬ 
pens so. 

We know that a certain degree of cold will freeze wa¬ 
ter ; that a certain degree of heat will dissolve the ice and 
restore the water to its former state. The causes of these 
phenomena are not known to a great number of men, 
yet no one doubts that there exists a relation between 
cold and frost, between heat and the dissolution of ice. 
We might possibly question the reason assigned by sci¬ 
entific men for this phenomenon, but the world will never 
trouble itself about the scientific value of these reasons ; 
we know that the two facts always exist together, and, 
therefore, we know, too, that they are connected with 
each other. We might apply this rule to an endless va¬ 
riety of cases, but the preceding examples are amply suf¬ 
ficient for our purpose. We will only add that the ma¬ 
jority of our actions are based on this principle : The 
coexistence of two phenomena for any considerable length 
of time, authorizes us to conclude that when one of them 
exists, the other must exist likewise. If this principle 


OBSERVATIONS ON CAUSALITY. 


51 


was not regarded as unquestionable, the masses of the 
people would not know how to rule themselves in their 
daily life ; philosophers would find themselves involved 
in perplexities, and would, indeed, possess no very der 
cided advantage over ordinary men. The second rule is 
closely related to the first. In fact, it rests on the same 
principle and is applicable to the same order of facts. 
Constant experience tells us that birds come from the 
egg. Nobody has ever yet satisfactorily explained how 
the fluid contained in the eggshell can give being to 
this wonderful little creature. But even if science should 
ever succeed in explaining it, the explanation would in 
no wise affect ordinary people ; they know as well as the 
man of science knows that there exists a relation between 
the egg and the bird, for they know that this living won¬ 
der has been produced by the substance contained in the 
eggshell. Few men understand, or rather no man un¬ 
derstands how the soil affects the seed it receives ; how 
it helps to make it grow and ripen ; neither do we know 
why a certain soil is more favorable to the production of 
certain fruits than another soil ; yet we have always seen 
this to be a fact, and this suffices to make us conclude 
that one of the facts depends on the other, and that 
the existence of the second implies the pree'xistence of 
the first. 

§ 4. OBSERVATIONS ON CAUSALITY-A LAW OF DIALECTICS. 

When one event follows another, it is important to ob¬ 
serve, whether this has happened in one instance only or 
in many. In the first case, the succession does not neces¬ 
sarily imply causality or a relation of any sort between the 
two events. In the second case, it does not always indi- 


52 


CRITERION. 


cate the dependence of effect on cause, but it denotes at 
least the existence of some general cause, related to both 
events. If, when the moon is in a certain position, the 
flux and reflux of the sea would be only occasionably ob¬ 
servable, we would not be justified in inferring the exis¬ 
tence of a relation between the two phenomena ; but as 
the coincidence has constantly taken place, we are forced 
to conclude that, if one is not the cause of the other, the 
two must at least have one identical cause, and that they 
are thus related to each other in a common origin. 

But be that as it may, logicians have very good reasons 
for condemning the sophistical principle. 11 Post hoc 
ergo propter hoc. ” ‘ * This event happened after that other, 
therefore it was caused by itfor in the first place, one 
event does not invariably follow the other, and in the sec¬ 
ond place, the fact that one phenomenon follows another, 
does not prove that it proceeds from it as an effect from 
its cause, since they may both have a common cause. 

If we pay close attention to this subject, we shall find 
that this law of succession is more common than might 
at first sight be imagined. We adopt it in the ordinaiy 
transactions of daily life ; nature itself seems to have en¬ 
grafted it on our minds. In applying the rule, we are 
generally guided by the importance of the matter in ques¬ 
tion ; in some cases we are satisfied with one or two ex¬ 
periments ; in cases of greater moment we repeat them 
oftener, but radically we are always guided by the princi¬ 
ple, that when one fact invariably follows another, the two 
must be related to each other ; the existence of one ren¬ 
ders the existence of the other necessary. 


AN EXAMPLE. 


53 


§ 5 . AN EXAMPLE. 

It is night; on the top of a neighboring hill I see a 
fire burning, a moment after a light appears on an op¬ 
posite hill ; it is visible for a short time and then disap¬ 
pears. Observe that the light is seen shortly after the fire 
begins to burn. Can I infer that there exists any con¬ 
nection between the two phenomena ? Surely not. On 
the following evening I see the same two phenomena 
again ; the coincidence, to which I paid no particular at¬ 
tention the previous evening, now forces itself on my 
notice; but supposing that it may have happened by 
chance, I do not bestow any further thought on it. On 
the third evening the same thing occurs again, and I be¬ 
gin to suspect that it happens in consequence of some 
arrangement or understanding between some persons; but 
on seeing that the fact recurs regularly every evening dur¬ 
ing the course of a whole month, and always at the same 
hour, the conviction forces itself on my mind, that the 
light is either caused by the fire on the opposite hill, or 
that it is at least in some manner connected with it. In 
a case like this we should, if we would arrive at the truth 
about the matter, attentively consider all the circum¬ 
stances that may bear on the phenomena, without omit¬ 
ting any one of them, however insignificant it may seem 
to be. In the case we have supposed, it might be thought 
that it is a matter of no importance that the fire and the 
light always appear at the same hour; yet this circum-' 
stance should not be overlooked : had the hour varied in 
the different nights the probability of the light being con¬ 
nected with the fire, would be much greater than it is. A 
man that is hasty in drawing his conclusions, might pos- 


54 


CRITERION. 


sibly have given the alarm and frightened the whole neigh¬ 
borhood, if he had paid no particular attention to this 
incident. Soon it would be regarded as certain, that 
some persons with evil intent were concerned in the affair; 
the robbery that occurred in the vicinity of those hills, 
would be satisfactorily accounted for; the gun shot, heard 
there a few nights ago, is explained, the mystery is solved. 
Black suspicion attaches itself to an innocent family liv¬ 
ing in the neighborhood. The authorities are informed 
of the wicked plot, the police are sent out to ascertain the 
facts connected with the case ; on the very first night they 
return home laughing heartily at those who have been 
duped by foolish rumors. In the immediate vicinity of 
the hill where the fire was seen, there lives the family N; 
it owns a forest on that hill, and knows that some rascally 
wood-cutters were in the habit of cutting down young trees. 
To prevent them doing further damage, the family, be¬ 
fore retiring to rest, sends out a servant to keep watch in 
the forest. The nights are chilly, the watchman lights a 
fire, without having the remotest idea that, by doing so, 
he will disturb the villagers at the foot of the hill in their 
nightly rest. It is the hour at which the family is ac¬ 
customed to retire to rest; before doing so, the father of 
the family takes his lantern, goes out to see whether or 
not the gates that lead into the yard are closed. The 
lantern which the good man carries in his hand, is the 
mysterious light which appeared after the fire had begun 
to bum, and disappeared shortly afterwards. Thus it 
turns out, that those very persons who are securing them¬ 
selves against robbers, are themselves looked upon as 
robbers. How would a man of sound common sense 
act in a case like the above ? Simply thus : Shortly after 


AN EXAMPLE. 


55 


the fire begins to burn, the light appears on the opposite 
hill; the two always appear more or less at the same 
hour ; this leads him to think that it is a signal on which 
some persons have agreed among themselves. As the 
country is in peace, it might occur to his mind, that rob¬ 
bers are concerned in the matter, yet the probabilities 
are against this supposition, for robbers do not generally 
choose the same hour, place and signals to accomplish 
their nefarious designs ; by doing so they would run the 
risk of being detected ; moreover, robbers generally do 
their business quickly, whilst here the same signals ap¬ 
pear regularly during a whole month. Besides, in the 
vicinity of the place there lives the family A, and the 
family B, who enjoy an excellent reputation. The fire 
must, therefore, be either purely accidental, or if it is a 
signal agreed upon by different parties, it must regard af¬ 
fairs of no danger to private or public safety. The events 
occur at the time when people usually retire to rest; some 
reason or other probably has induced one man to start a 
fire and another to light a lamp. 

§ 6. REFLECTIONS ON THE FOREGOING EXAMPLE. 

It will have been observed that the two facts mentioned 
in the preceding paragraph are not connected with each 
other, but they have one thing in common, viz : the hour 
of retiring to rest. It is, therefore, clear that the error 
which we supposed, did not arise from the fact that peo¬ 
ple attributed a common cause to the two events, nor 
from the fact that they supposed the events to be merely 
accidental, but from the fact that they had recourse to 
interpretations that were entirely groundless, by attribu¬ 
ting that w r hich was merely the effect of the identity of 


56 


CRITERION. 


the hour, to the evil designs of men. This observa¬ 
tion shows us, on the one hand, with what care we 
must proceed, when we would discover the sort of rela¬ 
tion that exists between facts that either coexist or follow 
each other; on the other hand, it confirms still more the 
rule which we have laid down, viz.: that the constant co¬ 
existence or succession of two phenomena proves that the 
second phenomenon is an effect of the first, or, that they 
are both related to a third cause which produces them. 

§ 7. THE CAUSE OF AN ACT WHICH SEEMS TO BE THE RE¬ 
SULT OF MERE INSTINCT. 

If we enter yet more deeply into the subject which we 
are discussing, we shall find that in inferring the natural 
relation of two events from their coexistence or succes¬ 
sion, we are not led by blind instinct, but by a principle 
that is deeply engraved on our souls; the principle is 
this: ‘ ‘ Where there is order, where there is combina¬ 
tion, there must be a cause that orders and combines; 
chance means nothing.” A coincidence of events that 
takes place only occasionally, may, indeed, be purely 
accidental, it may not prove satisfactorily that one event 
is the cause of the others ; but when the coincidence takes 
place constantly, we may say without hesitation : Here 
there is a concatenation of cause and effect; mere chance 
does not, cannot, go so far. Thus, if we examine man’s 
faculties with care, we shall everywhere discover the boun¬ 
tiful hand of Divine Providence, which has graciously 
enriched his mind and his heart with its most precious 
treasures. 


Chapter VII. 


LOGIC IN HARMONY WITH CHARITY. 

§ I. WISDOM OF THE LAW WHICH FORBIDS RASH JUDG¬ 
MENTS. 

The Christian law which forbids us to judge rashly of 
our fellow-men, is not only a law of love, it is likewise 
a law of prudence and sound logic. There is nothing so 
unreasonable as to judge of a man’s actions, or of the 
motives that prompt him to do them, from mere appear¬ 
ances. The most trivial events that occur in daily life 
are so complicated ; men, moreover, are placed in such 
a variety of situations, influenced by such a diversity of 
motives, look at things from so many points of view, that 
frequently we need only to invest ourselves with their cir¬ 
cumstances and our anger against them ceases ; we un¬ 
derstand and approve, or at least excuse, what a moment 
before we censured and condemned. 

§ 2. VALUE OF THE MAXIM I BELIEVE EVIL AND YOU WILL 
NOT ERR. 

Some persons imagine that they improve on the Gospel, 
and that they lay down an excellent rule of conduct by 
defending the above maxim : “Do not place too much 
confidence in man,” they tell us constantly; “it is folly 
to give credit to fine sounding words;” “the world is 
very wicked,” “facts speak for themselves.” But what? 


58 


CRITERION. 


Does the Gospel command us to make fools of ourselves ? 
Does not Christ tell us that whilst we are as simple as 
the dove, we must be as prudent as the serpent ? Does 
he not tell us that we must not believe every spirit ? And 
as you talk of man’s wickedness, do we not find in the 
very first page of the sacred writings, the solemn assur¬ 
ance, that “the heart of man is prone to evil from his 
youth ?” 

The pernicious maxim which would make the malice 
of the human heart a medium for arriving at truth, is 
as much opposed to reason as it is to Christian charity. 
In fact, experience shows that the most inveterate liar 
utters many more truths than he utters falsehoods, and 
that the good or indifferent actions of the most corrupt 
of men, surpass his evil actions considerably in number. 
Man is naturally inclined to love what is good and true ; 
he will only then deviate from the path of truth and up¬ 
rightness, when his passions lead him astray. The liar 
will succumb to the temptation of lying, when it flatters 
his vanity or otherwise serves his purpose. At other times 
he speaks the truth like other men. The thief steals, 
the faithless man breaks his word, the quarrelsome man 
fights when occasion allures him, or his passions stimu¬ 
late him. But if men should at all times be under the 
control of evil passions, then they would become perfect 
monsters, vice would be turned into mania and society 
would be compelled, in the interests of order and morality, 
to extirpate all evil doers. We will therefore conclude, 
that it is as unjust as it is unfair, to believe evil of a man 
without sufficient grounds. There are hundreds of white 
beans in a box ; amongst them there are a few black 
ones. I will take a bean out of the box at random, will 


JUDGING THE CONDUCT OF MEN. 59 

you tell me that I will hit on a black one ? Are not the 
probabilities much greater in favor of a white one ? 

§ 3. SOME RULES FOR JUDGING THE CONDUCT OF MEN. 

These rules are rules of prudence ; but though they 
might be said to be born of the prudence of the serpent, 
they will, by no means, be incompatible with the simpli¬ 
city of the dove. 

First Rule . Do not rely on the virtue of men in gene¬ 
ral, when that virtue is exposed to very severe trials. 
The reason is clear. To resist very severe temptations is 
the heroism of noble souls, of virtue that has passed 
through the ordeal of fire, and experience shows that 
there are few men that possess such virtue. Human 
weakness generally succumbs when it is put to any se¬ 
vere trial, and scripture assures us that he who loves 
danger shall perish in it. 

You know that a merchant may be in very embarrass¬ 
ing circumstances, whilst, by the community in which he 
lives, he is regarded as a man of wealth and affluence. 
His honor and the support of his family depend on an 
operation that is unjust, but exceedingly advantageous. 
If he does it not, the fatal secret will be divulged and 
ruin will be the inevitable result. Should you rely on 
his honesty ? If the operation should entail damages pn 
yourself, you will rather take measures to prevent him 
from succumbing to the temptation. A building may 
not threaten to fall under ordinary circumstances, but 
when it is beaten on all sides by a furious hurricane, it 
will be the part of prudence not to approach too near to 
it. You know that two persons of prepossessing appear¬ 
ance and engaging manners stand on great terms of inti- 


6o 


CRITERION. 


macy with each other ; they are both virtuous, and even 
if there were no other motive to influence them, their 
honor should suffice to keep them within the limits of 
propriety. If you are interested in these young persons, 
you will take those measures which prudence may dic¬ 
tate ; if you are not interested in them, do not form rash 
judgments, pray for them. It may be that your prayers 
will not be useless. You are Governor of a country. 
The times are critical, the dangers serious. One of your 
dependents who holds an important position is inces¬ 
santly besieged by an enemy who has vast pecuniary re¬ 
sources at his disposal. From all appearances, your in¬ 
ferior is a man of honor; he is bound to you by many and 
stringent ties; he has shown himself interested in your 
cause; he defends certain principles that underlie your 
general policy with considerable zeal. All this is in his 
favor, yet you would do well to be watchful if you sup¬ 
posed that a purse of fifty thousand dollars might pos¬ 
sibly cause him to forget his former fidelity—fifty thou¬ 
sand dollars might induce him to think differently of the 
justice of your cause. Prudence would be especially nec¬ 
essary for you, if his defection should entail fatal conse¬ 
quences that could not be remedied. 

A friend has made important offers to you. You can¬ 
not doubt of his sincerity; his friendship dates far back ; 
the ties that bind him to you are many and strong ; hi§ 
sympathies, ideas and sentiments harmonize perfectly 
with your own—you are friends. An occasion unexpectr 
edly presents itself that makes his friendship cost him 
very dear; he must either sacrifice you or expose him¬ 
self to the danger of incurring heavy losses. Resign 
yourself to be made his victim, hjs offers will probably be 


JUDGING THE CONDUCT OF MEN. 6l 

forgotten ; his earnest protests will be worthless, and in¬ 
stead of condoling with him over his losses, you will have 
the satisfaction of knowing that interest is sometimes 
stronger than friendship. 

A man in authority is placed in very trying circum¬ 
stances ; people wish to force him into measures which 
no conscientious magistrate can sanction. If he agrees to 
these measures, he degrades himself; he violates his most 
sacred engagements ; he places interests of great impor¬ 
tance in jeopardy. The man is naturally upright; dur¬ 
ing his long public career no act of infidelity has ever 
been laid to his charge; he possesses even a certain firm¬ 
ness of character ; his antecedents are in his favor. All 
this is w r ell, but when the storm bursts forth, when the 
wild clamors of an infuriated populace resound in the 
halls of justice, when their daring leader presents him¬ 
self before the migistrate, holding in one hand the docu¬ 
ment he is requested to sign, in the other the pointed 
dagger or the loaded revolver, then—tremble rather for 
the uprightness of the man than for his life ; he will pro¬ 
bably not die ; uprightness seldom implies heroism. 

From these examples it appears that in certain circum¬ 
stances it is not only lawful for us to mistrust men’s vir¬ 
tue, but that we will even act prudently if we do so. We 
will add that it is not at all necessary that the danger 
should be as great as we have supposed it to be in the 
preceding cases; in order that we may lawfully suspect 
evil, frequently much less is necessary. To persons that 
are thoroughly perverse, a simple opportunity of doing 
evil is equivalent to a violent temptation. In practice, 
we should, before forming a judgment, attentively con¬ 
sider with whom we have to deal; from his habitual in- 


62 


CRITERION. 


clination to vice or to virtue, we must judge what proba¬ 
bility there is in favor of his resisting the temptation, or 
of succumbing to it. These observations lead us to seve¬ 
ral other rules. 

Second Rule. In order to be able to conjecture how 
a person will act in given cases, it is necessary for us to 
know what degree of understanding he possesses, what 
are his general propensities, his habits, his interests, what 
is his character, his morality, and, in a word, all that can 
influence him in forming his resolutions. Man is indeed 
endowed with free will, yet he is subject to a variety of 
influences, that have a veiy decided bearing on his reso¬ 
lutions. Inadvertence to a single one of these circum¬ 
stances might lead us to judge of him wrongly. A man, 
for example, is placed in critical circumstances that ex¬ 
pose him to the danger of becoming unfaithful to his 
duties. It might seem at first sight that, in order to know 
how he will act, it is sufficient for us to know his mora¬ 
lity and the obstacles which he has to overcome ; but we 
forget one point, which in such cases exercises a very 
decided influence, viz. : firmness of character. What fol¬ 
lows from this inadvertence ? This : that a good man 
will sometimes not justify the expectations we had of him 
and a bad man will surpass them. In the conflict be¬ 
tween virtue and vice, virtue is frequently aided by strong 
passions ; a fiery and violent soul becomes spirited in the 
conflict and draws from danger itself new courage and 
new energies. Pride stimulates the sense of duty, and 
he who loves to brave danger and to make obstacles dis¬ 
appear, grows more daring and resolute, when he is con¬ 
scious of doing what duty prescribes. To waver is to him 
a sign of weakness, fear he regards as cowardice, defeat 



JUDGING THE CONDUCT OF MEN. 


63 

he considers to be synonomous with disgrace. Take, on 
the contrary, a man that is timid, pusillanimous : his in¬ 
tentions may be good, his heart may be upright, on the 
whole he means well ; but he will look at things in a 
very different light. ‘‘The line of duty,” he says to him¬ 
self, “is drawn for me, it is true ; but if I submit, death 
will be the consequence, my wife will be left a widow, 
my children will be orphans ; if I should submit, will I 
thereby prevent evil from happening ? May not a greater 
evil follow ? After all,we must adapt ourselves to the cir¬ 
cumstances in which our lot is cast; duty does not con¬ 
sist in anything abstract or absolute ; virtue that is not 
regulated by prudence, is no virtue at all. 

This example, which is not an imaginary one, shows 
how necessary it is before forming an opinion of a person, 
to consider carefully all the circumstances by which the 
person may be affected. Unfortunately, the knowledge 
of man is not easily acquired ; it is not the work of a 
day ; but sharp observation and an ordinary share of com¬ 
mon sense will aid us to acquire it by degrees. 

Third Rule. We must divest ourselves of our own ideas 
and sentiments, and not imagine that others will act as 
we ourselves would act in certain cases. 

Experience shows that man is strongly inclined to 
judge of his fellow man from himself ; hence the saying : 
“He that does not do evil will not suspect evil.” “A 
thief will not trust his own shadow. ” This inclination to 
make ourselves the standard by which to judge of others, 
is one of the greatest obstacles we have to overcome, if 
■we would judge of others with impartiality ; it not un- 
frequently exposes the upright man to the danger of be¬ 
ing set down as wicked ; by it are evil tongues moved to 


6 4 


CRITERION'. 


throw their aspersions on the most tried honesty and un¬ 
blemished virtue. 

Reflection and painful experience do much to correct 
this fault, which is so prolific of evil to individuals and to 
society at large. But as it is rooted in man’s intellect 
and heart, we must watch it closely, for it will easily 
shoot forth and thrive if it is neglected. The cause of 
this phenomenon is easily explained. Man generally 
reasons from analogy. This thing has always happened 
so, therefore, in the present instance, the same will hap¬ 
pen again ; this fact mostly always succeeds that other 
fact, therefore it will succeed it now likewise. Hence, 
it follows that whenever we have to form an opinion, we 
at once have recourse to comparison. If we discover 
a single example to justify our mode of thinking, our 
convictions grow stronger ; if experience furnishes us with 
many similar facts, we demand no further proof, but re¬ 
gard the question as settled. When we stand in need 
of comparisons, we naturally look for them among those 
objects with which we are most familiar; hence, when¬ 
ever we have to form an opinion about the probable con¬ 
duct of others, we do not carefully consider the motives 
that may imfluence them in their deliberations ; we ra¬ 
ther consult ourselves to see how we would act in simi¬ 
lar circumstances, and thus we attribute to others our 
own mode of thinking and judging of things. 

This explanation which is as simple as it is well-ground¬ 
ed, explains the reason of the difficulty we experience in 
divesting ourselves of our own ideas and feelings, when¬ 
ever we have to form an opinion of the conduct of others. 
He who is only acquainted with the customs of his own 
country,.finds every thing strange that conflicts with these 


ON HUMAN AUTHORITY IN GENERAL. 65 

customs ; when he leaves his native country, every novelty 
he meets with causes him surprise. The same thing hap¬ 
pens in the matter of which we treat. We are not as inti¬ 
mately acquainted with any one as we are acquainted with 
ourselves, and even those who are least inclined to concen¬ 
trate their thoughts on themselves, know, as it were, by 
instinct, the course which their intellect and their will 
most ordinarily take. When a case presents itself to us, 
we do not reflect that it takes place in the soul of another 
person, and, as it were, in a place distinct from where we 
live. We are naturally inclined to judge that that which 
ordinarily happens in our own country,must, with very 
slight modifications, happen elsewhere likewise. And as 
I have begun with comparison, I will add that, as those 
who have travelled much, are not suprised by any diver¬ 
sity of customs they meet with, but adapt themselves to 
them with ease and almost naturally; so too are those 
who have thoroughly studied the human heart, best able 
to abstract from their own mode of thinking or acting, 
and to invest themselves with the circumstances in which 
others are placed. They do in a manner change their 
costume and their ordinary habits of life and adopt those 
of the natives of the country in which they sojourn. 


Chapter VIII. 


ON HUMAN AUTHORITY IN GENERAL 

§ I. TWO CONDITIONS TO BE OBSERVED IN ORDER THAT THE 
TESTIMONY OF MEN MAY BE TRUSTED. 

As we cannot always arrive at the knowledge of the ex¬ 
istence of a thing by ourselves alone, we are sometimes 
compelled to have recourse to the testimony of others. 
Now in order that this testimony may be reliable, two con¬ 
ditions are indispensable. First, the_witnegSL m ust no t 
have been himself deceived ; secondly, he mus t not in¬ 
tend to deceive us. It is evident that the testimony of a 
witness is of no value, if either of these two conditions is 
wanting. Of what use is it to me that he who speaks to 
me knows the truth, if he intentionally utters falsehoods ? 
Or what will it avail me that he is honest and loves the 
truth, if he is deceived himself? 

§ 2 . EXAMINATION AND APPLICATION OF THE FIRST RULE. 

In order to know whether or not a witness has been 
deceived, we must strive to discover the means he had for 
knowing the truth of what he relates; his mental abili¬ 
ties, as well as all other personal qualities that may ren¬ 
der his testimony more or less trustworthy, must likewise 
be taken into consideration. 

A person relates a fact of which he was not an eye-wit¬ 
ness ; the laws of polite education may not permit us to 



ON HUMAN AUTHORITY IN GENERAL. 67 

ask him from whom he has heard the facts, but the laws 
of sound logic demand that we pay particular attention to 
this circumstance, and that we do not too easily give our 
assent to the truth of his narrative without having exam¬ 
ined into it. 

I pass through a country which is to me entirely un¬ 
known. I hear some one assert that the present has 
been a very fertile year in these parts ; that for a long 
time past the harvest has not been as abundant as it is 
this year. I must, before all, observe who it is makes 
this assertion. It is a venerable old man, who owns 
large estates, and has resided for many years in this part 
of the country; he is, moreover, passionately fond of 
collecting statistics and comparing them. His own in¬ 
terests, his condition, his particular inclinations and long 
experience enable him to speak with authority on this sub¬ 
ject ; he knows what he says, and, therefore, I am not 
free to question his statements. But let us suppose that 
it is a son of the old gentleman who gives us the above 
information. He leads a dissipated life in large cities, 
and troubles himself little about what takes place in the 
country; he has merely come to spend a few pleasant 
days with his father, or to have his purse replenished. 
Now he may certainly know that what he tells us is true, 
he may have heard his father say so, but independently of 
this latter circumstance, his testimony is of little value. 
Or it may be a traveller who occasionally passes through 
the country on business that bears no relation to agricul¬ 
ture. His assertion merits little faith ; the means he 
possesses of knowing the truth of what he asserts, are 
too limited. His proposition will amount to a simple 
* ‘ perhaps. ” 


68 


CRITERION. 


In a conversation with friends it is related, that the en¬ 
gineer N has invented a new machine to do a certain 
work, and that it surpasses by far all that has yet been dis¬ 
covered in that line. The man who relates this, has seen 
the machine. Who is he ? He is a machinist, who has 
acquired considerable renown in this branch of industry ; 
he has travelled much in order to make himself thorough¬ 
ly acquainted with the most modern improvements in 
machinery; he has, on different occasions, been com¬ 
missioned by his government and by important private 
companies to examine into the latest progress made in the 
line of constructing machines ; he is, therefore, a compe¬ 
tent judge in this matter, and it is not at all likely that his 
credulity should have heen imposed on by a mere charla¬ 
tan. Or let us suppose that the eye-witness is a manufac¬ 
turer who has spent much money in the purchase of ma¬ 
chines ; he knows something about their construction, for 
his own interests require that he should pay some atten¬ 
tion to this matter, and he has, moreover, the advantage of 
long experience on his side. The witness is not to be 
despised, though his testimony is not as reliable as that 
of the man in the preceding case. He does not thorough¬ 
ly understand the principles of the mechanical art; he has 
indeed seen several establishments in which machines are 
built, but he has not seen enough of them to be able to 
compare the latest invention that has been made, with the 
systems with which he is acquainted. He, by whom the 
new machine was offered to him for sale, knew that he 
had to do w r ith a wealthy business man ; it was his inter¬ 
est that he should give him a high idea of the merits of 
his new invention ; there may, therefore, be reason to sus¬ 
pect that his praises may be exaggerated ; it may be, the 


ON HUMAN AUTHORITY IN GENERAL. 69 

machine whose merits he praises so highly, does not sur¬ 
pass or even come up to the standard of mediocrity. 

A woman of approved veracity, but of a lively imagina¬ 
tion, who is, moreover, greatly inclined to give credit to 
strange, mysterious events, relates with an air of the great¬ 
est certainty, that during the preceding night she heard 
a frightful noise in the house ; that on arising she saw 
the reflection of light burning in uninhabited parts of the 
house; that she has, moreover, repeatedly heard the sound 
of unknown voices uttering cries of anguish, of despair, 
or of threats. The tone in which she relates her story, 
and her whole bearing, clearly show that she labors un¬ 
der the excitement of violent, recent impressions. You 
will prove yourself a sensible man if you attach no great 
importance to her story. Most likely, whilst the good 
lady was sleeping profoundly, one or more of her cats 
were on a hunting or a stealing tour. They caused a 
vessel to fall to the floor ; hence the noise. Perhaps the 
lady found it difficult in the evening to compose herself 
to sleep, thoughts of ghosts and hideous spectres kept her 
imagination in a state of feverish excitement; the noise 
made by the cats awakens her from sleep; terrified, she 
arises, runs to and fro, scarcely knowing w'hat she is 
about; she sees some rays of light in an unoccupied 
room, the moon is shining, and the servants have not 
closed the window shutters in that room; and as to the 
mysterious voices she fancies she hears, it is caused by the 
wind, or by a door that is not well fastened, or it may 
be that the cat has escaped from the scenes which its 
noise had rendered dangerous, and is now amusing itself 
by mewing outside, without suspecting that by its imper¬ 
tinence it is terrifying its benefactress. 


70 


CRITERION. 


Thus would a calm thinker reason without however, 
expressing any decided opinion either for or against the 
truth of the lady’s narrative, though he would probably in¬ 
cline to the opinion that there was no truth in it. Whilst 
he is thinking over the matter, the husband of the lady 
arrives. He is a man about fifty years of age ; during his 
long military career, he has overcome all tendency to fear, 
he has acquired a fair stock of knowledge and has the ad¬ 
vantage of much experience ; he has retired into private 
life, where he is occupied chiefly with his books, leaving 
his wife to spin out her dreams and fancies at leisure. 
The eyes of all are directed towards him, all are anxious 
to learn in what light he regards the terrible affair of the 
previous night. I do not know, he says, what was that 
infernal noise in our house last night. I was engaged in 
answering important letters which I wished to mail in the 
morning, and suddenly, about midnight, when I had not 
yet retired, I heard such a noise, that I almost imagined 
the house had fallen on us; it could not possibly have 
been a cat that made the noise, and, besides, nothing was 
discovered in the morning in disorder or broken. I saw 
no light, but I heard the sound of noises that would al-. 
most terrify any one. We shall see whether or not the 
thing will be repeated. I suspect that somebody has tried 
to play a trick on us. I should only like to catch the fel¬ 
lows whilst they are at their work. From this moment the 
affair assumes another aspect; that which before seemed 
improbable now becomes to a great extent certain, in fact 
it may turn out certain ; it only remains to see what it 
was. 


ON HUMAN AUTHORITY IN GENERAL. 71 
§ 2. EXAMINATION AND APPLICATION OF THE SECOND RULE. 

If it is necessary for us to know what means a person 
has had for knowing the truth of what he relates, before 
we give our assent to his assertions, it is not less necessary 
to know whether or not he intends to tell us the truth. 
It will therefore be expedient to ascertain how his charac¬ 
ter stands as to veracity, nor must we omit to examine 
whether or not passion or self-interest might possibly in¬ 
duce him to exaggerate his account of the affair, or to 
utter real falsehoods. What belief does the man merit 
who gives glowing accounts of brilliant military exploits, 
if he supposes that these accounts will pave the way for 
him to office, to promotion, or to distinguished decora¬ 
tions ? It can be easily imagined, in what colors he will 
depict his accounts, if he is not a man of strict moral prin¬ 
ciples or influenced by a delicate sense of honor. We 
would show a want of sound judgment, if we were to at¬ 
tach implicit belief to the assertions of a man, when it is 
his interest that we should consider his assertions to be 
true or probable. Whenever we have to judge of the 
probabilities of ah event, of whose occurrence we are only 
informed through the testimony of another person, we 
must simultaneously attend to the two conditions, viz.: 
his knowledge and his veracity. But since in many cases 
there are, besides these two conditions, other circum¬ 
stances that enable us to form a probable conjecture about 
the truth or falsehood of the fact that is related, therefore 
we must take these too into account if we would avoid 
the danger of being led into error. Generally speaking, 
these circumstances are very numerous, and hence it can 
be shown more clearlv by examples than by rules, what 
importance we should attach to them. 


72 


CRITERION. 


A General of an army sends a report to his government 
of a victory he has gained. The enemy, of course, was 
greatly superior to him in numbers, his position was ex¬ 
ceedingly advantageous, nevertheless he was completely 
routed; it was only by a precipitated flight that he saved 
a large number of his soldiers from being made prisoners. 
The loss suffered by the General was inconsiderable,when 
compared with the heavy losses of the enemy. Several 
companies of his men allowed themselves to be carried 
too far by their ardor ; they were suddenly attacked by 
forces fourfold superior to their own, they were thrown 
into disorder for some moments, but thanks to the excel¬ 
lent behavior of their officers and the admirable directions 
of the Commanding General, they again rallied together 
and retreated in good order, leaving only a few of their 
men killed on the field. What opinion shall we form of 
This battle ? In order to show what circumspection is 
necessary in forming an opinion on this and similar cases, 
we will point out the various circumstances that must be 
taken into consideration. Who is the General ? Is he 
known to be a truthful, unpretentious man ? Or is he 
regarded as a vain boaster? What are his military abili¬ 
ties? What officers has he under his command? Are 
his troops favorably known to the public for their braveiy 
and discipline ? Have they on other occasions dis¬ 
tinguished themselves on the battle-field ? Or have they 
frequently suffered defeat ? With what, enemy were they 
engaged ? What was the object of the General’s expedi¬ 
tion ? Has he obtained it ? In the report sent to the 
government there is a clause that states : “I know posi¬ 
tively that the place Wean yet maintain itself for some 
days—hence I did not deem it advisable to hurry opera- 


ON HUMAN AUTHORITY IN GENERAL. 73 


tions, especially as the men, exhausted by fatigue and 
hunger, absolutely required some rest. The convoy is 
safe in the city B, to which I have retired ; thus leaving 
to the enemy a few positions that were unimportant for 
me, as also some provisions which fell into his hands in 
the heat of the combat, whilst fear had caused some 
confusion among those who were in charge of them.” 
This report is by no means encouraging, notwithstand¬ 
ing the reserved language in which it is couched. It is 
evident that the General has lost some of his men and 
provisions, and that he is unable to advance against the 
enemy with the troops he has with him. Where are the 
trophies of the victory he has gained ? He has made no 
prisoners and he acknowledges that he has lost some of 
his soldiers; some companies of his troops have permitted 
themselves to be transported too far by their ardor ; they 
suffered some losses by being attacked by forces four 
times as numerous as their own. All this gives us only 
too much ground to suspect, that instead of having gained 
a victory the General has been defeated. 

What dispatches arrive from the place to which the 
General has retired ? It is probable that the letters com¬ 
ing from there will not be very flattering; they will con¬ 
tain discouraging descriptions of the disorder amid which 
the soldiers entered the city, and of the diminution of 
their numbers. 

What do the friends of the enemy say ? Alas ! this 
explains the mystery. Amid the festive clang of music, 
the hostile troops entered the place 3, bringing with 
them a large number of prisoners ; they have boldly pre¬ 
sented themselves before the walls of the city ; the lines 


74 


CRITERION. 


of the siege are momentarily drawn more close. And 
what is the victorious General doing in the meantime ? 
He remains inactive ; it is said that he has called on the 
government for reinforcements. And this, forsooth, is vic¬ 
tory ! The brilliant victory claimed, turns out to have 
been an inglorious defeat. 

§4. A REMARK ON SELF-INTEREST IN DECEIVING. 

Although his own interest may sometimes induce the 
man who relates an event to distort it so as to make the 
false appear true, yet there are cases in which self-interest 
will not influence him to such an extent, for his deceit 
might soon be discovered, and as he could not palliate 
it, it would redound to his disgrace. Experience shows 
that we must not receive with implicit faith certain mili¬ 
tary reports which cannot, within a short time, be contra¬ 
dicted by certain, positive facts, that cannot be ques¬ 
tioned. It is not always easy to know the precise strength 
of an enemy, the order or disorder in which this or that 
portion of the army retreated, the number of killed or 
Wounded, or, in fine, the greater or lesser advantages of 
military positions ; the condition of the opposing armies, 
the state of the roads and other circumstances being 
taken into account. Every one relates the matter in his 
own way ; he frames his report so as to make it suit his 
own interests, his wishes, or the information he has re¬ 
ceived. Those very men who are in a position to know 
the real truth, are sometimes the first to disfigure it by 
circulating falsehoods. Those who succeeded in obtaining 
a correct knowledge of the state of affairs, would remain 
silent on the subject, for were they to speak they would 
be contradicted by others whose displeasure they do not 


ON HUMAN AUTHORITY IN GENERAL. 75 


choose to incur. The disgrace into which they might pos¬ 
sibly fall for having given false reports, will not be so 
great as not to admit of some excuse. On the contrary, 
let us suppose that a General, whilst fruitlessly besieging 
a fortified place, should have the brazen effrontery to send 
to his government a thrilling report, in which he states 
that he has taken the place by assault, and that those of 
the garrison who have not perished in the attack have 
been made prisoners. Within a few days the govern¬ 
ment will learn that the General has lied shamefully. 
The public will know it; his army will know it, and the 
shame and disgrace that will fall on him will make him 
pay dearly for the momentary applause which his false 
report procured him. Natural good sense will make 
men inquire in similiar cases whether or not the report 
is official. If they find it to be official, they will believe 
it to be substantially correct, though they may not per¬ 
haps believe all the circumstances with which it is sought 
to embellish it. It should be observed, however, that a 
commander will sometimes falsify his reports for the pur¬ 
pose of raising the spirits of the troops, or of gaining 
time. But in such cases the report will seldom state 
particulars or mention names. It will be framed in vague, 
indefinite language, as, for example : “We know posi¬ 
tively/' “We have been informed by persons that were 
on the spot.” The commander knows that official let¬ 
ters will afterwards be published ; that public demon¬ 
strations of joy will take place, but he will always leave 
a large margin in his report, in order not to offend against 
the good sense of the people too glaringly ; he will not 
compromise himself and others by mentioning particular 
names. In short, even whilst he reports the most bare- 


76 


CRITERION. 


faced falsehoods, he will have some regard for the public 
conscience. 

The fact, therefore, that he who relates an event, is in¬ 
terested in it, does not authorize us to conclude that the 
narrative has been falsely recounted. Before we suspect 
this to be the case, we must consider whether or not the 
circumstances connected with the falsehood are such as 
can be easily discovered ; we must consider whether or 
not the falsehood, if discovered, would leave the narrator 
without any means of self-defence. In such a case, pru¬ 
dence should induce us to believe him, however weak 
his authority may be, and however much he might other¬ 
wise be supposed to be governed by motives of interest. 
By believing him, we may possibly be led into error, but 
the probabilities are in favor of our being correctly in¬ 
formed. 

§ 5 . DIFFICULTY OF DISCOVERING THE TRUTH REGARDING 

EVENTS THAT TOOK PLACE IN REMOTE PLACES AND TIMES. 

If it is so difficult to discover the truth about facts that 
happen in our own country and in our own times, how 
much more difficult will it not be to obtain correct infor¬ 
mation regarding events that took place either a long 
time ago, or in remote countries ? How will it be possi¬ 
ble to discover, whether or not the writings of travellers 
and historians can be relied on ? Whoever will pay the 
slightest attention to the scandalous manner in which facts 
that happen under our own eyes, are exaggerated, dis¬ 
torted and falsified in a thousand ways, must of necessity 
be discouraged, when he opens a book of travels or a 
work of history, or reads the public prints and especially 
the accounts of facts that are said to have taken place in 


ON HUMAN AUTHORITY IN GENERAL. 77 


distant countries. He who lives at the time and in the 
country in which events happen, has certainly many 
means to prevent him from being led into error. He 
either is an eye-witness of them, or he reads or hears dif¬ 
ferent accounts of them which he can compare with each 
other; and as he is acquainted with the antecedents of 
the persons and the matter in question; as he is constantly 
brought into contact with persons of conflicting interests 
and opposite views; as he, moreover, follows up the 
whole course of events, it will not be impossible for him 
to obtain correct information regarding many facts, if he 
only uses a little care and judgment. But what will the 
unfortunate reader do who is to form an opinion on facts 
that are supposed to have happened centuries ago, and in 
places very remote, if he has nothing to guide him but 
the public journals, or works which he accidentally dis¬ 
covers in some reading-room, in a library, or which he 
himself has purchased, because he saw them praised in 
some newspapers, or because he heard some one whom 
he presumes to understand such matters, speak highly of 
them ? The means by which we ordinarily acquire a 
knowledge of what has transpired in times and places re¬ 
mote from us are : the newspapers, the accounts of trav¬ 
ellers and history. We shall speak of each one of them 
separately in the following chapteis. 


t 


Chapter IX. 

ON NEWSPAPERS, 

§ I. AN ILLUSION. 

Some persons imagine that in those countries in which 
the press enjoys perfect freedom, it is easy to discover the 
truth regarding events that occur, or questions that are 
agitated. It is supposed that there is no class of opinions 
and interests that has not some journal to represent them ; 
hence, even if one journal should be in error, the error will 
be corrected by another, and thus, by comparing papers 
that defend opposite interests or opinions, you will be 
enabled to discern truth from falsehood. “All the pa¬ 
pers together, ” it is said, ‘ ‘ know what there is in the 
matter, and they tell us all they know ; we have only to 
read them patiently to compare them carefully, and pru¬ 
dence and common sense will enable us to arrive at a 
correct conclusion.” Thus some men reason. I believe, 
however, that this mode of reasoning is fallacious; hence 
I will lay down the proposition, that newspapers do not 
tell us all that regards persons or facts ; that they do not 
even tell us all that their writers know about them ; and 
this even in countries in which the press enjoys all the 
liberties that can be desired. 

§ 2. NEWSPAPERS DO NOT TELL US ALL ABOUT MEN AND 
THINGS. 

We see daily that the partisans of men in eminent 


ON NEWSPAPERS. 


79 


positions, lavish on them the most exaggerated praises, 
whilst the papers that represent the opposite party, are 
just as liberal in heaping abuse upon them. If you 
could believe these last papers, you would regard those 
men as ignorant, stupid, inhuman, blood-thirsty mon¬ 
sters, who have not a single good quality to recommend 
them. The talents, abilities, sentiments of honor and 
generosity which are attributed to them by those who are 
devoted to their cause, are thus more than counterbal¬ 
anced by the abuse heaped upon them by their adversa¬ 
ries. Now, when you have carefully read the organs of 
both parties, what are you able to conclude ? Suppose 
that you are a stranger, and that you have to decide either 
in favor of or against the men whom the papers thus hold 
up to admiration and to scorn, how will you be able to 
decide justly? The result will be, that after you have 
read the papers, you know about as much concerning the 
merits or demerits of those men as you did before ; you 
are forced to suspend your judgment or to run the risk of 
deciding wrongly. The public career of the man in 
question may not always have been marked by actions 
that merit unqualified approval; besides, you do not know 
whether the good or evil attributed to him, may not have 
been done by his subordinates. 

What is yet more strange, is the fact that notwithstand¬ 
ing the war thus carried on by the papers on account of 
the man, you yet find entire districts in which every citi¬ 
zen warmly espouses his cause, whilst in other districts 
the citizens are just as unanimous in violently opposing 
him. It would seem that they have agreed among them¬ 
selves to deceive those who are not influenced by party 
spirit; yet more, the very persons who, in public, do all 


So 


CRITERION. 


in their power to crush the man, are willing to acknow¬ 
ledge that he has many excellent qualities, when you con¬ 
verse with him in private; whilst those who support him 
with their best abilities in public, are ready to acknow¬ 
ledge in private, that he has many serious faults, that he 
is, in fact, little more than a worthless character. Speak 
with the man’s enemies ; they will tell you, that his abili¬ 
ties can not be denied, that his honesty is above suspi¬ 
cion, that his intentions are praiseworthy ; ‘ ‘ but, ” they 
will add, “ he has become mixed up with that affair, we 
must throw him overboard ; we are willing to respect him 
as a private man ; it would have been well for him had 
he listened to us, he would have served our purposes, 
but now we do not want him.” You take up a party 
paper and find that it is enthusiastic over a certain candi¬ 
date ; it represents him as a man of intelligence, of 
honor, of indomitable courage, of unrelenting energy; 
in fact he alone is able to save the country from the ruin 
that threatens it. Now speak to the men who thus es¬ 
poused his cause a moment ago, privately. What will 
they tell you? “We know,” they will possibly say, 

4 ‘ that he has no resources at his command, but we need 
somebody, and he serves our purpose. He is accused of 
dishonest intrigues ; but this is no secret; he is interested 
in the bank A, in the sum of so many thousand dollars, 
his connections with the bank B look more than suspi¬ 
cious ; in fact he is an unscrupulous character, but he 
stands by his friends. Besides, where can you find an 
honest man in office now-a-days ? Moreover, our political 
enemies assail him unmercifully, and that is a sufficient 
reason for supporting him. Do you know the antece¬ 
dents of the man ? Allow me to tell you a little of his 


ON NEWSPAPERS. 


8l 


history. ” They now relate to you the story of his life ; 
they recount his adventures, the disgrace he has met with, 
the stupidity he has displayed, the crimes which have been 
laid to his charge and which he has not been able to 
prove untrue. It is thus that you become acquainted 
with the real character of the man. 

It is true that strangers have not, generally speaking, 
such sources of information; nor are they open to those 
who live in the same country in which the man lives, if 
they merely read the papers. These latter often suppose 
that they can discover all they need, by reading the or¬ 
gans of the different political factions; they do not even 
suspect that the papers generally make very exorbitant 
demands on the credulity of their readers. The fear of 
being prosecuted for libel ; the fear of stirring up against 
themselves powerful, dangerous enemies ; the respect in 
which some men are held by the public on account of 
the spotless purity of their lives, a certain amount of de¬ 
corum which they cannot well throw off before the pub¬ 
lic ; these and similar reasons do sometimes prevent the 
writers of papers from entering into particular details 
about a man’s character, and from relating unpleasant 
anecdotes in which he would play a prominent part. 
Frequently, too, it happens that writers bring exagger¬ 
ated charges against a man ; assail him with bitter invec¬ 
tives and poignant irony, and yet do less injury than 
they would do him if they made public a few particular, 
well-substantiated facts of his life. 

Writers generally distinguish sharply between the pri¬ 
vate and the public man. This distinction should un¬ 
doubtedly be made in the majority of cases; the papers 
that fail to make it, seem to propose to themselves no 


82 


CRITERION. 


higher aim than to gather all the disgusting filth they can 
find and to serve it up to us at our tables. Nevertheless 
a man’s private character often enables us to form reason¬ 
able conjectures about what his public conduct will be. 
Do you suppose that a man who, in private life, has no 
respect for his neighbor’s property, will become a mo¬ 
del of honesty, when intrusted with the administration 
of the public funds ? Do you suppose that a man with¬ 
out principle, without faith, without religion or moral¬ 
ity, will consider himself bound to stand by the political 
principles which he apparently professes? Do you 
imagine that the libertine, who, at home, insults every 
sentiment of morality and decorum, who is an unfaithful 
husband and a worse father, will respect the moral senti¬ 
ments of the community, when he is elevated to an emi¬ 
nent position ? Will innocence be secure under his pro¬ 
tection ? Will not insolence and injustice find in him a 
powerful patron ? Now the papers scarcely ever tell us 
anything about the private character of the man whose 
cause they espouse, though these writers are well ac¬ 
quainted with his character. 

§ 3 . PAPERS DO NOT TELL US ALL ABOUT THINGS OR FACTS. 

It is not true that papers tell us all that is important 
for us to know about political affairs. Who does not 
know the difference that exists between opinions expressed 
in writing? When one writes for the public, he must 
necessarily observe certain formalities, he must observe 
great caution ; not a few writers tell us precisely the con¬ 
trary of what they think, and even those who scrupulously 
defend the truth, are sometimes forced by circumstances, 
if not to express what they do not think, at least to with- 


' DISTINCTIONS THAT MUST BE MADE. 83 

hold from the public more than half of what they know. 
It is important to bear this remark in mind, if we would 
not run the risk of accepting as genuine, what many 
know to be fraudulent, though it is commonly received. 
No intelligent man will allow himself to be deceived 
about it. 


Chapter X. 

RELIANCE TO BE PLACED ON ACCOUNTS GIVEN 
BY TRAVELLERS. 

. v 

§ I. DISTINCTIONS THAT MUST BE MADE. 

In the accounts which we receive from travellers we 
must carefully distinguish between the facts they relate 
and which they themselves have witnessed, and the other 
matter contained in their books. We have already laid 
down some rules concerning the credibility of witnesses in 
general; we will here add two remarks ; 1st. Your dis¬ 
trust of the truth of accounts given by travellers should 
be proportionate to the distance of the place in which ar; 
event is said to have occurred. It is an ordinary saying 
that, “he who comes from a great distance, finds it easy 
to tell great lies2nd. It must be carefully remembered, 
that travellers are generally inclined to exaggerate matters, 
and to disfigure them in the accounts which they give, and 
even to draw on their imagination for facts which they re¬ 
late. Hence from their accounts we may very easily form 



8 4 


CRITERION. 


wrong ideas about the countries which they describe. The 
cause of this want of candor lies in the fact, that exagger¬ 
ations flatter their vanity, and that they are influenced by a 
morbid desire of giving importance to their narrative. 

It is difficult, if indeed possible, to lay down any rules 
that will enable us to know, whether the information which 
travellers pretend to give us about men and countries, de¬ 
serves credit or not. We will however, offer a few remarks 
that may, in many cases, supply the want of well-defined 
rules ; they will at least prevent the reader from receiving 
with implicit faith what travellers tell him. 

§ 2. SOURCES FROM WHICH SOME TRAVELLERS DRAW THEIR 
INFORMATION. 

How do men generally travel ? They pass through a 
country by the easiest and shortest routes, stop for a short 
time in the principal towns, and continue their journey in 
such a way as to save time and money. If the country 
is supplied with railroads, if it has rivers on which steam¬ 
ship navigation is carried on, the traveller will proceed 
from one city to another as rapidly as the cars or the 
steamer can carry him. On his way he will occasionally 
indulge in pleasant slumbers in order to break the mo¬ 
notony of the journey; he will look out of the window of 
the cars in order to enjoy the sight of a beautiful village, 
or if he is on board a ship, he will walk on deck and gaze 
on the shores of the river. Thus he acquires the know¬ 
ledge of the country through which he travels. Surely it 
is not by travelling thus that a man will become ac¬ 
quainted with the manners, customs, ideas, the religion or 
the material prosperity of a country. He sees something 
of the soil along the shores of the river, and something of 


SOURCES OF INFORMATION. 85 

the fashions observea by the country people in their dress, 
because these two objects fall under his notice. Yet it 
should be observed that, unless the traveller is very cau¬ 
tious, he may be deceived even on these points, by draw¬ 
ing general conclusions from facts not sufficiently nume¬ 
rous ; he may thus produce wrong impressions on the 
mind of the reader. If, a few years hence, the river Ebro 
should be open to navigation from Saragossa to Tolosa, 
and a traveller should describe the provinces of Arragon 
and Catalonia and the customs of their inhabitants, from 
what he observed on the banks of the river, would not 
his description be absurdly incorrect ? Let those then, 
who are fond of reading books written by travellers such 
as we have described, judge of the reliance to be placed 
on their statements when they undertake to describe coun¬ 
tries that extend over thousands of square miles. The 
writer assures you that his descriptions are correct, but 
how does he know that they are correct ? What pains has 
he taken to obtain information? He has travelled in 
those countries. Certainly, but how has he travelled ? 
Let us accompany him for a short time, and observe him 
closely. He arrives at the capital of a country, with the 
language of which he is, perhaps, only imperfectly ac¬ 
quainted ; it may be that he understands nothing at all 
of it. During the first few days he finds it difficult to 
make his way through the labyrinth of streets and public 
squares ; he frequently consults his hand-book of travel, 
looks at the map of the city, and asks for information 
at the corners, and thus he finally finds out the bureau 
of passports, the palace of the ambassador, or some 
gentlemen to whom he has letters of introduction. These 
few days are certainly not a very appropriate time to 


86 


CRITERION. 


study the city. If, in order to save time and fatigue, 
he hires a carriage, it will be even worse, for the rapidity 
of his movements will scarcely allow him to get even a 
glimpse of the city. He sees objects, as we see them, 
moving in rapid succession through a magic lantern ; he 
will, perhaps, pass his days pleasantly, but the informa¬ 
tion he obtains will be very limited and by no means 
exact. He afterwards visits the principal buildings, the 
monuments and curiosities of the place, with which he 
has become slightly acquainted through his guide-book. 
If the city is large, he will either leave it without having 
seen much of it, or he will be obliged to prolong his 
stay for a considerable time. The season advances ; there 
are other cities to be visited yet; he must, moreover, go 
to the baths ; he must be present at a public celebration 
that will take place in a distant country at such a time ; 
he therefore takes the cars and travels to other places 
which he intends to study about as thoroughly as he has 
studied the place from which he takes his departure. 
Having thus travelled for some months, he returns home ; 
he occupies himself during the long winter evenings in 
arranging the notices which he has written confusedly in 
his journal, and in spring, a volume or two, containing de¬ 
scriptions of his travels and the places which he has visi¬ 
ted, appear in print. Agriculture, commerce, science, 
the arts, politics, religion, the character of the people, 
their ideas and manners, all are described in the book ; 
it contains the general statistics of the countiy; only be¬ 
lieve what it says, and you need not go to the trouble of 
going out of your house, and yet you know the minutest 
details about a country which you have never seen. 

From where has the traveller derived this vast amount 


SOURCES OF INFORMATION. 


87 


of information ? How has he been enabled to become so 
thoroughly acquainted with the country in so short a 
time ? And, what is yet more, how has he learned facts 
that happened in places which he never visited, facts that 
happened at a distance of hundreds of miles from both 
banks of the river on which he travelled ? It can easily 
be told how he obtained his information. In the morn¬ 
ing, as soon as the rays of the sun penetrate into the car 
in which he travels, he awakens from sleep, he looks 
Out of the window to observe the country through which 
he is passing, he sees that it is in some respects different 
from the country he had seen the day before; desirous 
to know its peculiarities somewhat more fully, he opens 
a conversation with the man who is seated next to him : 

* ‘ Are you acquainted with this country, sir ?” 

“ Slightly.” 

“ What is the name of yonder place ?” 

4 * If I am not mistaken, it is called N” 

“ What are the chief products of the country ?” 

1 ‘ They are N, N.” 

* 1 And its industry ?” 

“AT 

“What is the character of the inhabitants?” 

“They are rather phlegmatic.” 

* ‘ Are they wealthy ?” 

“Very.” 

In the meantime the train reaches its destination. The 
gentleman who gave the replies to our inquisitive traveller 
departs without even bidding him farewell. The infor¬ 
mation which he gave is noted down in the traveller’s 
journal, to be afterwards given to the public as informa¬ 
tion that has been carefully gathered from reliable sources. 


88 


CRITERION. 


As these short notes, however, are not sufficient to 
make up a good-sized book, our traveller adds some re¬ 
marks about the extravagant fashions observed in dress, 
the irregularity of streets and buildings, the grotesque 
dances of the peasants, the rural villages ; and his picture 
is complete. If our traveller is anxious to favor the pub¬ 
lic with a volume of goodly size, he will increase his 
stock of information by freely drawing from other sources 
that are yet open to him. Newspapers and hand-books 
for travellers will be of great use, they will enable him to 
give the exact statistics of the country ; he arranges them 
in proper order, interpolating them with what he has 
seen and heard and imagined, and thus he will compile 
his book, and publish it as the result of much labor and 
diligent study, whilst in truth, it contains nothing but 
statements copied from newspapers, from books of doubt-, 
ful authority, or accounts of what the traveller heard from 
those with whom he happened to travel a short distance. 

Let not the reader imagine that I treat those who pub¬ 
lish accounts of their travels, with unmerited severity. I 
willingly acknowledge that we are indebted to some travel¬ 
lers for much valuable information, but I believe that the 
books written by the generality of travellers do not merit 
much faith. What absurdities have not strangers pub¬ 
lished about our own country ? What has happened to 
Spaniards, may happen to any other people. They may 
be represented in colors that may cause them to blush 
and provoke their just anger, or that will flatter, in an 
undue degree, their national pride ; the praises bestowed 
on them may be absurdly exaggerated, and the criticisms 
to which they are subjected, may be unjustly severe. It 
all depends on the humor, the ideas, the prejudices of 



TRUE MANNER OF STUDYING A COUNTRY. 89 

the traveller, who undertakes to write about matters of 
which he is profoundly ignorant. 

§ 3. THE TRUE MANNER OF STUDYING A COUNTRY. 

Reason and experience show, that in order to be able 
to form correct ideas about a country, and to describe it, 
such as it really is, under its material and moral aspects, it 
is necessary to be well acquainted with its language ; to 
reside in it for a considerable time ; to be in constant in¬ 
tercourse with its inhabitants, and never to grow weary of 
seeking information, whenever it can be obtained. I be¬ 
lieve that it is only thus, that we can judge of a country 
accurately and arrive at exact conclusions. Information 
which is not thus obtained will be vague, inexact and 
very frequently erroneous. As long as a country is not 
studied in this manner, as long as its material and moral 
statistics are derived from other sources, the country will 
not be known, such as it is; much less will it be cor¬ 
rectly described. It will be described, as a country of 
vast extent is described on a geographical map : you 
see the map covered with names, circles, chains of moun¬ 
tains, lakes and rivers. If you measure the distance of 1/ 
one place from another with a compass, and base your 
calculations in travelling on your measurement, you will 
often think that you are near a town, a river or a moun¬ 
tain, whilst you are far distant from it. 

Do you wish to obtain exact information about a coun¬ 
try and to be able to judge of it with accuracy ? Study 
it, as we have said, or read the works of those who have 
studied it thus. If you cannot do this, then be content 
with a general knowledge of its history and peculiarities ; 
you will then do honor to yourself, when you are in con- 


9 o 


CRITERION. 


versation with others, whose means of information have 
not been more extensive than your own ; but do not 
build a system of philosophy, of politics or economy on 
this general knowledge, and be especially careful not to 
boast or to make a show of what little you know, for 
otherwise you will cause yourself to be laughed at by 
those who know more than you. 


Chapter XI. 

HISTORY. 

§ I. A MEANS TO SAVE TIME, AID THE MEMORY AND PRE¬ 
SERVE US FROM ERROR IN THE STUDY OF HISTORY. 

The study of history is not only useful; it is neces¬ 
sary. Sceptics themselves do not neglect this study ; 
they may deny that by it new truths are discovered, but 
they will not deny that it forms an integral part of a good 
education. Men may carry doubt to extremes, but doubt 
can never destroy certain facts. We must admit them, 
or be content to be regarded as men that have lost their 
reason. 

In the study of history we must, before all things, dis¬ 
tinguish between what is absolutely certain and what is 
not. Thus we will commit to memory facts about which 
no doubt can be entertained, and we will be free to 
classify what is not altogether certain, merely probable, 
or even false. 

History informs us that vast empires have existed in 



HISTORY. 


91 


the East; that among the ancients, the Greeks took the 
lead in learning and civilization; that Alexander made 
brilliant conquests in Asia : that, at one time, nearly the 
whole known world was subject to the Romans; that 
their empire was overthrown by barbarians ; that the 
Turks established themselves in the North of Spain and 
threatened several other countries in Europe ; that the 
feudal system prevailed in Europe during the Middle 
Ages ; history tells us these and a thousand other facts, 
ancient and modern. Will any sane man doubt of their 
truth ? As well might he doubt of the existence of Paris 
or London. 

§ 2. DISTINCTION TO BE MADE BETWEEN THE SUBSTANCE uF 
A FACT AND THE CIRCUMSTANCES RELATED TO IT. 

Many facts are undoubtedly to be admitted as certain, 
but there are many others whose historical truth is not so 
certain. Even facts that are admitted by all are related 
so variously by different writers, and are interwoven with 
so many particular circumstances that they leave the his¬ 
torical critic a wide field open for his researches. The 
Punic wars have taken place ; Rome and Carthage have 
fought among themselves for the mastery over the Medi¬ 
terranean, Africa, Spain and Italy ; the Scipios conquered, 
defeated Hannibal and destroyed Carthage. So much is 
certain. But were all the circumstances, connected with 
these historic struggles precisely such as we find them 
stated in the works of history ? Historians describe the 
genius and character of the Carthagenians ; assign various 
causes for the rupture between them and the Romans; 
they tell us of the battles fought, of the negotiations car¬ 
ried on between the two rival powers. Are we to receive 


92 


CRITERION. 


their statements in all their details ? These accounts we 
have chiefly from Roman authors ; may they not have 
been partial to their own side and prejudiced against their 
dangerous rivals ? Here there is a large field open to re¬ 
search. We must be cautious in receiving some state¬ 
ments, candid in rejecting others; and if we would not 
run the risk of being led into error, we will often abstain 
from forming an opinion and suspend our judgment. 

It is sometimes exceedingly difficult to obtain correct 
information about wars carried on in our own times be¬ 
tween rival nations. If these histories were written ex¬ 
clusively by men belonging to one of the contending 
parties, who would receive their statements with implicit 
faith? Yet in our day it happens that each party has its 
own historians. We find that they correct each other, 
contradict each other, and give each other the lie. The 
means of communication between different countries have 
never been so great as they are at present; it does not 
seem very difficult for writers to obtain correct informa¬ 
tion regarding the events they relate, and a writer knows 
that if he distorts facts and gives false reports, the false¬ 
hood can easily be detected ; yet when we read their 
works and discover so many contradictory statements, we 
often know not what to believe. How much more diffi¬ 
cult must it not be to ascertain the truth regarding events 
that happened so many centuries ago, when the means 
of communication between different countries were so 
limited ; when it was very difficult for historians to obtain 
correct information ? Suppose, moreover, that the his¬ 
torians whom you read, belonged to one party exclusively 
and were prejudiced in favor of their own side : surely 
the testimony of such writers is not entirely above sus- 


HISTORY. 


93 


picion. But neither should we accept with implicit faith 
what Greek authors tell us regarding the prodigious valor 
of their own troops, their heroic patriotism, the destruc¬ 
tion of innumerable Persians, and similar facts. Igno¬ 
rant and credulous persons will, of course, accept these 
statements as unquestionable, and will conceive unbound¬ 
ed admiration for the valiant Greeks ; but he who has 
studied the human heart knows how prone man is to ex¬ 
aggerate, and how disregardful of strict truth when his 
own interests, his own glory are concerned. He will 
hesitate before accepting statements that look so suspici¬ 
ous. He will admit the importance of the events treated 
of; he will feel convinced that the Greeks did not exactly 
conduct themselves like cowards, but he will prudently 
suspend his judgment regarding the number of the com¬ 
batants and other details, till he has learned what the 
Persians have to say in the matter. 

This rule of prudence should be carefully borne in 
mind whenever we read history, ancient or modern. It 
will preserve us from many errors, and it will teach us 
not to lose our time foolishly in endeavoring to discover 
whether the number of the killed in a battle was sixty 
thousand or seventy thousand, or whether the vanquished 
—who are no longer able to defend their own honor 
against prejudiced and unscrupulous historians—were 
three times or five times as numerous as their enemies. 

§ 3 . RULES TO BE OBSERVED IN THE STUDY OF HISTORY. 

As history does not enter into this little work, except 
in as far as it is one of the many sources from which we 
derive knowledge, I will not attempt to compose an ela¬ 
borate treatise on it; but will merely lay down, as briefly 


94 


CRITERION. 


as the subject will permit, some rules that must guide us 
in this branch of study. 

First Rule. Consider, before all things, what means 
the historian had for knowing the truth of what he re¬ 
lates, and satisfy yourself as to his veracity. 

Second Rule. All other things being equal, give the 
preference to the historian who was an eye-witness of 
what he relates. Truth never gains, and always loses by 
passing through the channel of tradition. Waters that 
flow through long channels, are affected by them. Un¬ 
fortunately, the channel of human tradition is infected 
with error and malice. 

Third Rule. When several writers of equal abilities 
relate the same event, give the preference to him who 
was not interested in it, and who could neither gain nor 
lose anything from his account of it. Whatever credit 
Julius Caesar may deserve when he relates his own bril¬ 
liant conquests, it is yet certain that he would naturally 
represent his enemies as brave and powerful, and his own 
conquests as difficult to achieve, and full of danger. 
The prodigious achievements of Hannibal, as related by 
his enemies, are more easily believed. How are the 
histories of modern revolutions written ? Variously, ac¬ 
cording to the different opinions, interests and prejudices 
of writers. A man of no mean abilities has written the 
history of the revolution in Spain, in 1808. He speaks 
of the Cortes of Cadiz ; his language is antiquated, grave 
and judicious, but it is not difficult to discover at once 
the young and fiery member of the constituent assembly. 

Fourth Rule. Contemporary historians should always 
be preferred to others. Their statements should, how¬ 
ever, be compared with those of other writers. A dis- 


HISTORY. 


95 


tinction must likewise be made between the facts they re¬ 
late and the causes they assign for them, as well as the 
consequences they attribute to them. 

There is generally in historical facts something so cer¬ 
tain and undeniable, that the most partial writers will not 
dare to call it in question. In such cases the historian 
will often admit the fact, but he will either exaggerate 
or diminish its importance ; he will color it so as to suit 
himself, ascribe it to causes that exist only in his own 
imagination, or attribute to it results that have had no 
connection with it. But the fact itself he will admit. 
The very efforts which a prejudiced writer makes to ex¬ 
plain a fact in a sense favorable to himself, ought to ren¬ 
der a judicious reader cautious in admitting his statements 
and stimulate him to study the matter thoroughly, in 
order to discover what truth there may be in it. The 
historian who is a fanatical admirer of Napoleon will re¬ 
present the Spaniards in the most repulsive colors; he 
will tell you that they are a cruel, fanatical, ignorant 
people, indifferent to their own glory and insensible to 
their material prosperity. He will give you reasons with¬ 
out number, why the great soldier should have interfered 
in the affairs of the peninsula, and he will not be at a loss 
to account for the disasters that followed the invasion. He 
will, of course, discover nothing in the conduct of his 
hero, that could obscure his glory. The prudent reader, 
however, will not allow himself to be deceived. Let his¬ 
torians say what they will, let them depict facts in the 
most fascinating colors, they cannot deny the facts them¬ 
selves. They cannot deny, that before the struggle began, 
and whilst the troops of the Marquis della Romana co- 


96 


CRITERION. 


operated with him in the North, Napoleon, under the 
pretext of friendship, threw a powerful army into Spain, 
took possession of the principal fortresses and of the capi¬ 
tal of the Kingdom, placed his brother Joseph on the 
throne of Spain, and that, finally, after six years of con¬ 
stant struggle, Joseph and his army were forced to recross 
the frontier. The historian must admit these facts ; he 
may distort and misrepresent them, but the facts will al¬ 
ways speak for themselves. From them it appears that 
Napoleon invaded Spain under the pretext of friendship; 
that he had no right to do this, that he attacked the men 
who had been his faithful allies, that he treacherously 
carried off the King, that for six years he carried on a 
disastrous war and was finally compelled to abandon the 
peninsula. The reader will see, on the one side, the 
good faith of an ally, the honest fidelity of a vassal, the 
courage and unbroken constancy of a nation defending 
its rights; on the other side he will likewise see courage 
and bravery, but courage and bravery coupled with bad 
faith, treachery, unscrupulous usurpation and defeat. 
The reader is enabled to pronounce his verdict. Error 
and perfidy, he will say, commenced the war; malice and 
treachery carried it on; a patriotic people refused to be 
subject to the haughty invader and drove him out of the 
land. 

Fifth Rule. Anonymous writers merit, as a rule, but 
little faith. Modesty may induce an author to withhold 
his name from the public, but why should we believe a 
man whom we do not know ? The fear of injuring his 
reputation is a powerful motive to induce a writer to state 
the truth with fairness; yet it is not always powerful 


HISTORY. 


97 


enough to make him truthful. On anonymous writers this 
motive has no influence at all; be therefore cautious in 
accepting their statements. 

Sixth Rule. Before you read a history make yourself 
acquainted, if possible, with the history of its author. 
This is not, indeed, generally done, but it should be 
done, for reasons that must be obvious to everybody. I 
mentioned these reasons in the eighth chapter of this 
work. I will here add a few observations. We cannot 
know what means a writer had for knowing the truth, if 
we do not know who he was, and what was his character, 
and under what circumstances he wrote. The country in 
which he published his work, the government under 
which he lived, the spirit of his age, the position which 
he held, will often explain the reason of his violent de¬ 
clamations against certain persons or facts, and of his re¬ 
serve in treating of certain questions of importance ; they 
will reveal the reason why he passes over some points 
slightly, whilst he is so diffuse in treating of others of less 
importance. The historian of the time of the Alliance 
differs materially from the historian who flourished dur¬ 
ing the reign of Louis XIV.; and if we come to times 
nearer to our own, the epochs of the French revolution, 
of Napoleon the First, of the restoration of the Orlean- 
ist dynasty, must surely have influenced the historians 
who wrote in those times. At the time when violent 
contests were going on between the Popes and secular 
princes, it was of importance to know whether a book 
was published in Rome, Lisbon or Madrid. The mere 
knowledge of this fact will sometimes enable the reader 
to supply much that the historian has left out, and to re- 


93 


CRITERION. 


ject statements he has made ; it will explain a word that 
is obscure and the meaning of certain circumlocutions,and 
it will enable him to appreciate, according to their just 
value, certain protests and eulogies, censures and bold 
assertions. Few men rise above the circumstances under 
which they have been brought up ; few are willing to en¬ 
counter serious risks for the sake of truth. In trying cir¬ 
cumstances men generally enter into a compromise be¬ 
tween conscience and interests. The man who remains 
true to virtue when fidelity implies heavy sacrifices, pos¬ 
sesses virtue in an heroic degree, but it is well known 
that the number of such heroes is very small. Yet the 
fact that a writer adapts himself to the spirit of the times 
in which he wrote does not necessarily prove a want of 
honest candor, or that he offends positively against truth 
and justice. As long as a man does not state anything 
that conflicts with his convictions, he may be excused if 
he does not state all he knows to be true. If Bellarmine 
had published his works in Paris or London, could it 
have been reasonably expected that he would write as he 
has wrtiten concerning the indirect power of the Pope ? 
As well might you have told him : “Write so, and as 
soon as your works appear, Parliament will order them 
to be burned ; you will be shut up in prison, or ban¬ 
ished from your country.” The position which a man 
holds, the education he has received, and his moral char¬ 
acter will likewise aid us considerably to judge of the 
merits of his writings. Would you know the value of 
Luther’s writings on celibacy ? Bear in mind that he was 
an apostate Friar, living with a woman who, like him¬ 
self, had sworn to observe perpetual celibacy. They who 


HISTORY. 


99 


have read the infamous confessions of Rousseau, will not 
be deceived when they hear the philosopher of Geneva 
discoursing on philosophy and morality. 

Seventh Rule. Posthumous works, edited by men who 
are little known, or of questionable veracity, are easily 
suspected of having been tampered with. However il¬ 
lustrious the authors of such works may be, it is not they 
who speak, but the editor, who, if he is a dishonest man, 
knows well that the dead will not arise from their graves 
to accuse him of falsehood or misrepresentation. 

Eighth Rule. Histories compiled from private memoirs 
or unpublished manuscripts; works in which the pub¬ 
lisher declares that he has merely arranged the manu¬ 
scripts in proper order, corrected an expression here and 
there, or elucidated a few obscure passages, merit as much 
credit, as is due to their respective editors, and no more. 

Ninth Rule. Do not easily believe writers who relate 
secret negotiations, Cabinet secrets, or anecdotes reflect¬ 
ing on the private characters of persons in high stations. 
It is difficult to know with certainty what happens pub¬ 
licly in broad daylight; how much more difficult must 
it not be, to know what takes place in secret, and, as it 
were, in the dark obscurity of night ? 

Tenth Rule. When you read the history of people who 
lived at a very remote period, do not easily believe all 
that is said about the immense riches of their country, 
the number of inhabitants, the treasures of kings and 
the religious ideas and habits of the people. It is very 
difficult to know these facts with perfect accuracy. To 
know them, a man should reside in the country for a 
considerable time, know its language, be acquainted 


TOO 


CRITERION. 


thoroughly with matters that are complicated, and not 
easily understood perhaps, even by the inhabitants them¬ 
selves. As to the manners and domestic habits of a peo¬ 
ple, these can only be known to those who have ample 
opportunities to study the inner life of families and to see 
how men speak and act when they enjoy the liberties of 
their own houses. 


Chapter XII. 

GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS ON THE MANNER OF 
KNOWING THE NATURE, PROPERTIES AND 
RELATIONS OF THINGS. 

§ I. CLASSIFICATION OF THE SCIENCES. 

Having explained the rules that may aid us to discover 
the existence of things, we will now proceed to lay down 
some rules to enable us to find out their nature, proper¬ 
ties, and the relations by which they may be affected. 
We will divide things or facts into natural, moral, historic, 
or social and religious facts. The first belong to the 
order of nature, in as far as it comprises all that is sub¬ 
ject to the necessary laws of creation ; the second enter 
into the moral order ; the third regard man as a social 
being, and the last belong to the sphere of religion. 

We will not now insist on the perfect exactness of this 
division. Objections might perhaps be made against it; 
yet it cannot be denied that it is grounded on the nature 
of things, and that it embraces the principal heads under 



CLASSIFICATION OF THE SCIENCES. 


IOI 


which we generally classify the facts that fall under our 
observation. In order, however, to explain somewhat 
more fully the reason of the division, we will state, in few 
words, on what grounds it rests. 

1. God has created the universe and all it contains ; 
He has subjected it to uniform and necessary laws ; hence 
arises the natural order, which constitutes the object of 
natural philosophy. 

2. God has created man and endowed him with reason 
and free-will ; He has imposed on him certain laws that 
bind him, but do not deprive him of his physical freedom 
of action. This gives rise to the moral order, which con¬ 
stitutes the object of moral philosophy. 

3. Man, as a member of society, is subject to the laws 
by which society must be governed. There exists, there¬ 
fore, a social order. Social philosophy, or, if you prefer 
it, the philosophy of history deals with it. 

4. God is not bound by any laws made by himself. 
He may suspend, modify or abolish these laws if he 
chooses so to do. There may, therefore, exist an order of 
facts, superior to the natural and social order. This is 
the supernatural order of religion. It embraces all that 
regards man as a religious being. When philosophy has 
discovered the existence of an object it proceeds to ex¬ 
amine it, to value it, to investigate its nature, properties 
and relations. A philosopher is commonly supposed, at 
least, to do all this. 

§ 2. SCIENTIFIC PRUDENCE-HOW IT MAY BE ACQUIRED. 

Prudence is necessary, not only for the man who wishes 
to regulate properly his moral conduct, but likewise for 
him who wishes to establish order in his philosophical 


102 


CRITERION. 


ideas. We know indeed that it is difficult to acquire 
scientific prudence, and that it is generally the fruit of 
long and bitter experience, yet a few remarks will, we 
think, be of some benefit to the reader. 

First Remark. Generally speaking, we know little or 
nothing about the intrinsic nature of things; what little 
we know is vague and indefinite. This truth should ever 
be borne in mind. It shows how carefully we must pro¬ 
ceed when we would discover the nature of any object. 
No careless student will ever master a difficult, obscure 
and abstruse subject. This truth will, moreover, cause 
us to hesitate prudently before we accept, with implicit 
faith, the results of our investigations; and, finally, it 
will cure the morbid curiosity which is only too natural 
to us, to understand secrets which we can never be able 
to unravel. The truth I have here asserted does not, I 
admit, flatter our inborn pride, yet who that has ever at¬ 
tempted to penetrate beneath the surface of things, will 
venture to call it in question ? The Author of our being 
has given us understanding sufficient for our physical and 
moral wants ; He has enabled us to know, as far as it is 
necessary to know, the use we are to make of the things 
that surround us ; He has concealed the rest from our 
eyes. Who will venture to ask Him why He has done so ? 
On the other side of the grave, He will remove the veil 
that now conceals from our view the charming beauties 
and magnificent perfections of the universe, which He has 
created in power and wisdom. 

We know some of the properties of light and make 
constant use of this knowledge ; but who can define the 
inner nature of light ? We know how to direct vegeta¬ 
tion and how to promote it, but can any man explain the 


HOW TO ACQUIRE SCIENTIFIC PRUDENCE. IO3 

mysteries of vegetation ? We know how to use our bodily 
senses, how to strengthen them and preserve them from 
injury, yet no philosopher has ever explained what sen¬ 
sation is ; we know what promotes and what injures the 
health of the body, yet can any one say why one thing is 
injurious and another beneficial ? What more shall I 
say ! We constantly compute time ; has any metaphysi¬ 
cian ever explained satisfactorily what time is ? We know 
that geometry exists and has attained great perfection ; 
yet we are ignorant of the fundamental truth on which it 
is based ; we know not the nature of extension. We 
dwell in space, we know that the world exists in space, 
we measure space by very exact rules, yet what is space ? 
Is it simply an idea ? Has it a nature exclusively its own ? 
Is it any thing distinct or separable from bodies? Is it, 
in short, a being, a thing or a mere nothing ? Philoso¬ 
phers, the best of them, tell us that they do not know. We 
think, and know not what thought is; ideas multiply 
in our minds, and we know not what an idea is. Our head 
is a grand theatre in which the universe in its vastness 
and beauty is represented ; a mysterious force creates 
mountains, fantastic yet beautiful, at one time sublime, 
at another extravagant; how are these wondrous scenes 
produced ? By the imagination, you say. But tell me, 
pray, what imagination is ? 

Are we not conscious of the existence of innumerable 
affections called sentiments? What is sentiment? He 
that loves, feels that he loves, but he knows not what love 
is; the philosopher points out to you its origin, its 
growth, its tendency and its object; he prescribes rules 
for its direction, but about its intrinsic nature the philoso¬ 
pher knows as little as other men, if not less. Senti- 


104 


CRITERION. 


ments resemble a mysterious fluid that courses through 
channels which no man has seen. Their effects are visi¬ 
ble, at times we know whence they proceed and whither 
they tend ; we are able to check their impetuosity and to 
direct them into different channels; but the eye does not 
see their mysterious nature, we know not what they are. 
Do we even know what our body is, and what are the 
bodies that surround us? Has philosophy yet ex¬ 
plained the nature of bodies? Yet we constantly see 
bodies and make use of them ; we know many of their 
properties and the laws to which they are subject, ar\d a 
body forms a chief part of our being. 

These reflections should be borne in mind whenever 
we wish to examine the intrinsic nature of things and to 
discover their constituent elements Let us be diligent 
in our investigations, but cautious in giving definitions. 
Whoever acts differently, will be in danger of substituting 
the creations of his own fancy for the realities of things. 

Second Remark. The problems of mathematics may be 
solved in two ways : a solution may be proved to be cor¬ 
rect, or it may be proved to be impossible. We may 
proceed in a similar manner in all sorts of questions. 
Many questions are solved best by acknowledging that 
they cannot be solved at all. Let it not be supposed that 
this is an easy way of evading difficulties, for it is by no 
means easy to say, what can be and what cannot be. He 
that is able to do this, shows that he has looked beneath 
the surface of things, that he is intimately acquainted 
with the subject in question and has studied it in all its 
bearings. This ability to discern between what can and 
what cannot be satisfactorily explained, saves much time 
and labor, for no one will ever attempt to solve a ques- 


HOW TO ACQUIRE SCIENTIFIC PRUDENCE. 105 

tion when he knows that its solution is impossible. Fre¬ 
quently it is experience, rather than principles, that shows 
the impossibility of solving a problem. A man of experi¬ 
ence and learning may not be able to demonstrate scien¬ 
tifically, that the problem cannot be solved ; he knows, 
however, that notwithstanding the most earnest efforts 
that have been made in past ages, the difficulty has not 
been satisfactorily explained. From this he infers that 
the human mind is unable to do it. Sometimes the very 
nature of the subject in question shows that we can decide 
nothing regarding it. We know the data necessary for 
giving a decision, and a moment’s reflection shows us 
that no such data exist in the case before us. 

Third Remark. As beings differ materially from each 
other in their nature, properties and relations, it follows 
that we cannot judge of all in the same manner. 

It has been asserted that certain cognitions enable a 
man to judge of all sorts of subjects. Even men of abi¬ 
lity have pretended that mathematics, for example, are 
the best logic, since they accustom the mind to think 
with exactness and precision. To perceive the absurdity 
of this assertion, it is only necessary to reflect that the 
objects that fall under our observation belong to orders 
essentially distinct from each other; that the means we 
have for knowing one class of objects are entirely dif¬ 
ferent from the means we have for knowing another ; 
that the relations in which beings stand to each other 
vary, according to the diversity of objects; that, finally, 
daily experience proves that a man may be eminently 
successful in one branch of studies, whilst in another he 
cannot even attain a respectable mediocrity. 

There are mathematical, physical, ideological, meta- 


io6 


CRITERION. 


physical truths; there are moral truths, religious truths, 
political truths, historical truths ; there are truths with 
which reason alone can deal, there are others into which 
the imagination and heart must necessarily enter ; some 
truths are purely speculative, others are practical; some 
are seen intuitively, others are deduced from reasoning, 
others, again, are learned by experience. Truths are so 
manifold and various in their kinds that it is impossiible 
even to enumerate them. 

§ 3 . SAGES RECALLED TO LIFE. 

By the aid of that power which is stronger than time and 
death itself, by the aid of the imagination, I will recall 
to life the eminent men who, in times gone by, shone 
like brilliant meteors in the horizon of letters. I will 
bring together the sages of the world, and thus enable 
the reader to see with his own eyes and to touch as it 
were, with his hand, the truths on which I insisted in the 
preceding paragraph. 

Let us, then, bring together the great men whose fame 
has been celebrated through many generations, and who 
will be regarded by all future ages as the pride and glory 
of our race. Let them come forth from their graves* 
such as they were in life, with the talents, passions, pre¬ 
dilections and weaknesses that characterized them whilst 
they lived on earth. What a brilliant assembly is not 
this! Gonsalvo of Cordova, Ximenes, Richelieu, Chris¬ 
topher Columbus, Ferdinand Cortes, Napoleon, Tasso, 
Milton, Racine, Boileau, Corneille, Lopes de Vega, Cal¬ 
deron, Moliere, Bossuet, Massilon, Bourdaloue, Des¬ 
cartes, Malebranche, Erasmus, Louis Vives, Mabillon, 
Vieta, Fermat, Bacon, Kepler, Galileo, Pascal, Newton, 


SAGES RECALLED TO LIFE. 


107 


Leibnitz, Michael Angelo, Raphael, Linnee, Buffon, and 
a hundred others whose fame will last as long as the 
world. Here they are, each one pursuing his own favor¬ 
ite avocations, each one engaged in the studies that are 
best suited to his tastes. ^ Gonsalvo is charmed with the 
brilliant exploits of Scipio in Spain, by his military genius, 
his strategies, his indomitable courage, unconquerable 
valor and generosity of soul. Napoleon follows Hanni¬ 
bal in his march across the Alps into Italy, he growls at 
Caesar for hesitating to cross the rubicon ; his enthusiasm 
is aroused, his face brightens up, as he sees the hero of 
Pharsalus, the conqueror of Africa, returning to Rome 
in triumph and assuming the dictatorship. Tasso and 
Milton find their delight in reading the Bible, Homer 
and Virgil; Corneille and Racine spend their hours with 
Sophocles and Euripides, whilst Boileau studies the charm¬ 
ing verses of Horace. Here are Bossuet, Massilon and 
Bourdaloue, poring over huge tomes of St. Angustine and 
St. Bernard ; there, in another part of the hall, Erasmus 
and Mabillon are searching the archives for some old 
manuscript that will help them to complete an unfinished 
sentence, to clear up an obscure passage or correct a 
wrong word. Every man is a hero in his own spheie. 
One is operating with the telescope, another makes ex¬ 
periments with the microscope, a third is testing the vir¬ 
tue of a newly invented instrument, whilst others again 
keep their eyes immovably fixed on signs and figures 
traced on paper ; they are engaged on some mathema¬ 
tical problem. Mechanics, artists, naturalists are all 
engaged in their several departments. Linnee examines 
plants in the garden; Watt is busy with machines; 
Michael Angelo and Raphael study works of art. 


io8 


CRITERION. 


Now let these men enter into a conversation among 
themselves on the various subjects that absorb their at¬ 
tention : will they understand each other ? is there no 
danger that genius will sink into obscurity, that wisdom 
will assume the appearance of folly ? Observe that man 
there ! He moves about unconsciously in his easy chair, 
his eyes sparkle with fire, the book drops out of his 
hands ; he exclaims : Beautiful ! magnificent! Near him 
another man is seated at his desk, a book lies closed be¬ 
fore him, he is slightly bent over his desk and supports 
his head with his hands ; he seems lost in contemplation. 
Suddenly he mutters the few words : “It is evident, it can¬ 
not be otherwise !” One of these men is Boileau reading 
the letter to the Pisos ; he has read it so many times 
that he could recite it entire from memory, yet it fails 
not to touch every fibre of his heart. The other man is 
Descartes. He has just meditated on the nature of colors; 
has arrived at the conclusion that they are merely im¬ 
pressions made on the senses. Let these two men enter 
into a conversation and attempt to exchange ideas. Des¬ 
cartes regards Boileau as a light-headed, frivolous charac¬ 
ter ; he pities the man on whom a pleasing figure, a well- 
selected expression can make such a deep impression. 
Boileau tells Descartes that his philosophy is an insult 
to reason and common sense. 

Raphael is contemplating with ecstatic delight a paint¬ 
ing of rare merit. The sun is gone down in the West, 
shades are spread over the earth, the moon is seen in the 
distant firmament, and stars glitter in the immensity of 
the heavens ; a delicate, lovely figure, with languid fea¬ 
tures, in a suppliant posture,* keeps her eyes intently 
fixed on the'moon; she seems to be communing with a 


SAGES RECALLED TO LIFE. 109 

sympathetic spirit of the other world, to be imploring 
his help in the sorrow that weighs heavily on her soul. 
An astronomer draws near, observes the phases of the 
moon and the position of the stars, and mutters some¬ 
thing about parallaxes, terrestrial semi-diameters, ellipses, 
etc., etc. Raphael understands not a syllable of this 
astronomical jargon ; disturbed in his pleasant reverie, 
he angrily leaves the place, wishing the astronomer and 
his astronomy to the devil. 

Here is Mabillon examining an old parchment; he 
wishes to decipher a line that is half erased ; he hopes 
to discover a passage he has fora long time sought. He 
adjusts his glasses in a hundred different ways, lets the 
light reflect on his paper from various points, and whilst 
the good monk’s attention is thus concentrated on his 
parchment, a naturalist approaches, places his microscope 
in position and examines the parchment, to see if he 
can discover any moths’ eggs. Linnee has planted some 
choice flowers in a particular spot in the garden ; Milton 
and Tasso stroll about reciting verses to each other ; they 
tread on the flowers, and ruin in a few seconds the work 
of many hours. 

Our illustrious men do not agree among themselves ; 
they cannot understand one another ; and they wisely 
conclude to separate, lest they should bring discredit on 
themselves and forfeit their titles to fame. What is clear 
to one is obscure to the other ; the first regards the sec¬ 
ond as stupid, the second repays the first with his own 
coin. The judgment of one is admirably correct on a 
certain subject, another talks about the same subject and 
talks nonsense. What one regards as precious metal, the 
other throws away as vile stuff. Whence proceeds this 


iio 


CRITERION. 


diversity of opinions ? why do not these great thinkers 
see things alike ? Because truths belong to different 
orders, and the sentiments of the heart cannot be mea¬ 
sured with the rule or compass. Sentiment does not aid 
the mathematician, and metaphysical abstractions have 
nothing to do with social life. He who has only one 
way of looking at things, is liable to fall into many errors ; 
he diverts his faculties from their legitimate objects by 
applying them to studies for which they are unfit. There 
are few, if any, universal geniuses ; the most privileged.^ 
minds must occupy themselves with some one class of 
objects ; doing this, they will succeed admirably ; by act¬ 
ing otherwise they will fail deplorably. 


Chapter XIII. 

ON THE FACULTY OF PERCEPTION. 

§ I. THE IDEA. 

A sound thinker perceives distinctly, judges correctly 
and reasons solidly. We will not proceed to treat of each 
of these three acts in so many different chapters. We 
will not here examine the nature of ideas, nor will we at¬ 
tempt to explain, philosophically, in what perception con¬ 
sists. It will be sufficient for our purpose to state, that 
by perception we generally mean the internal act, by 
which the mind takes hold of an object; and by ideas 
we mean the image or representation of objects formed 



ON THE FACULTY OF PERCEPTION. Ill 


in the mind. Thus we perceive a circle, an ellipse, the 
tangent of a curve ; we perceive the result of a combina¬ 
tion of forces, the gravitation of bodies, the laws of ac¬ 
celeration in their descent, the equilibrium of fluids ; we 
perceive the contradiction between being and not being 
at the same time, the difference between the essence of 
a being and its accidents ; we perceive the principles of 
morality, our existence and the existence of the world ; 
we perceive the simplicity or complications of an affair, 
the easy or difficult means by which it may be brought to 
a happy conclusion, the pleasant or disagreeable impres¬ 
sion which a word, a gesture, a look, produces on others ; 
in short, we perceive all that the mind knows. That 
which reflects these perceptions, or rather that which pre¬ 
sents these objects to the mind, and in which the mind 
sees them, we call idea. We will not attempt to explain 
its nature, but of its existence there can be no doubt. 

Fortunately, a man may think very correctly without 
knowing the conflicting theories of philosophers regard¬ 
ing the nature and origin of ideas. Are ideas merely 
transformed sensations ? Are they anything distinct from 
perception ? Are they the objects themselves as present to 
the intellect ? Are they acquired or inborn ? Does the 
mind evolve them out of itself, or is it the activity of the 
object that produces them ? Do they proceed from the 
subject or from the object alone, or do they imply the 
concurrence of object and subject ? These are interest¬ 
ing questions, but they are foreign to our present pur¬ 
pose. Philosophers have disputed about them for ages 
past, and will probably continue to dispute about them 
till the end of the world. It is a source of comfort to 
know that the world will go on exactly as it did before 


112 


CRITERION. 


men ever asked themselves how they knew that they 
knew ? Life is too short and too precious to be spent in 
making reflex acts on the nature of ideas or their origin. 
Ordinary people attend to their own business without 
ever thinking that they think or how they think. 

§ 2. A RULE FOR CORRECT PERCEPTION. 

Let the reader remember what we said in the second 
chapter of this work, and let him carefully apply his mind 
to its proper object. 

We are asked to give a mathematical definition. It 
must contain nothing vague, abstract, fantastic or senti¬ 
mental, nothing that is not intimately connected with 
the matter to be defined. The imagination has here no 
field for play. I will explain my meaning more clearly, 
by giving a definition taken from elementary geometry. 

A circumference is a closed line, whose points are all 
equally distant from a point within, called the centre. It 
is clear that the word “ circumference” is not taken here 
in a metaphorical, but in a strictly geometrical sense ; as 
it stands here, it must therefore be taken as an ideal ex¬ 
pression to which a real object corresponds. Since, how¬ 
ever, sight and imagination aid us considerably to un¬ 
derstand geometrical figures, we may use one or both of 
these faculties in order to obtain a correct perception of 
a geometrical circumference. I will draw on a piece of 
paper a closed line which bounds the area of a circle, or 
I will form a line with the imagination : does this suffi¬ 
ciently explain the nature of a circumference? No ; an 
ignorant man sees the line, or pictures it to himself with 
the imagination, as perfectly as the most clever mathe¬ 
matician, but he has no exact idea about the nature of 


A RULE FOR CORRECT PERCEPTION. 113 


a circumference. It is not therefore sufficient to see or 
imagine the figure; if it were, any irrational animal, a 
cat, for example, would know the nature of a circumfer¬ 
ence as well as Newton and Laplace knew it, for it sees 
or imagines the figure as well as they. What, then, is 
necessary for a correct perception of circumferences ? It 
is necessary to know exactly all the conditions essential 
to circumferences; the definition must express these 
conditions, if it leaves out a single one it is a faulty 
definition. 

They who have taught mathematics know what a dif¬ 
ference there is between seeing or imagining a figure and 
thoroughly understanding it. Take a compass and form 
a circle ; the dullest student will recognize it the moment 
he sees it; but let him define a curve and explain the 
conditions necessary for its formation, and you will at 
once perceive the difference that exists between the ima¬ 
gination and the understanding. His answer will be an 
index to his mind. Ask the first scholar in the bench : 
What is a circumference ? 

It is the line I have just drawn. 

Yes, but in what does it consist? What is the nature 
of this line ? In what does it differ from the straight line 
of which we spoke yesterday ? Are a curved line and a 
straight line one and the same thing ? 

No, sir, one is round, the other is not 

Can you give the author’s definition ? 

A circumference is a closed, curved line whose points 
are all equally distant from a point within called the 
centre. 

Why is it called a curved line ? 

Because it changes its direction at every point. 


H 


CRITERION. 


Why is it called a closed line ? 

Because its points return to each other. 

Would it be a circumference if it were not a closed 
line ? 

Yes, sir. 

But did you not say just now that a circumference is 
a closed line ? 

Oh, yes. 

Why would it not be a circumference if it were not a 
closed line ? 

Because .... a circumference .... because- 

You call on another pupil. He gives the exact defi¬ 
nition, explains its words, but now omits the word 
‘‘curved,” then forgets the word “equally.” You draw 
his attention to them and he repeats them, but after a 
few moments, he omits them as before. He thus shows 
clearly that he has not well analyzed the definition and 
has not a clear idea of it. You at last call out the best 
student in the class. He draws a circle with the compass, 
defines it without hesitation, analyzes it in a few well- 
chosen words, and you perceive at once that he under¬ 
stands it thoroughly. Examine him for a moment 

Could the word “line” be omitted in the definition? 
As there is question of lines, the word might be under¬ 
stood ; however, the definition would, strictly speaking, 
be incomplete without it, because when I say “ curved,” it 
might be doubted whether I spoke of a “ surface. ” 

But when I say “line,” might I not leave out the word 
“ curved ?” 

I think you could, for the line could not be a closed 
line if it were not curved ; besides the points of a line 



A RULE FOR CORRECT PERCEPTION. 115 

that is not curved, cannot be equally distant from the 
point called the centre. 

Would the definition be perfect if the word, “closed,” 
were omitted ? 

It would not, for if the line does not return to itself, 
there can be no circumference ; if, for example, I take 
away the part A and the part B of this line, it is no longer 
a circumference but an arc. 

But when I say that all the points of a circumference 
must be equally distant from a point within called the 
centre, do I not imply that the line must be a closed line ? 

No sir; in this line here all the points are equally dis¬ 
tant from the centre, yet it is not a closed line. 

What about the word “equally?” . 

It cannot be left out; the definition would have no 
meaning without it. The points of a straight line are 
distant from another point contained in the line ; so, too, 
are the points of a curve, yet they are not circumferences. 

Here you have a clear, exact, complete definition that 
leaves nothing to be desired. It satisfies the teacher and 
the pupil. 

Having thus analyzed a geometrical idea and indicated 
its degrees of perspicuity and exactness, we will analyze 
an idea taken from Belles-lettres. In both cases, we 
have the perception of a truth ; both cases demand atten¬ 
tion and mental application, yet the following example 
will show that what is useful in one case may be hurtful 
in another; the exact classifications and sharp distinc¬ 
tions which we made in the first case will be entirely out 
of place in tbe second. 

Two young men have just finished their course of rhe¬ 
toric. They remember perfectly all they have learned in 


116 


CRITERION. 


school, and could recite the text-book from beginning to 
end from memory; they are able to answer every ques¬ 
tion put to them about tropes, figures, the various kinds 
of compositions ; in short, they know the theory of rheto¬ 
ric to perfection. They have passed their examination 
to the complete satisfaction of everybody, and have re¬ 
ceived the highest distinctions which their school could 
confer. It is difficult to say which of the two has done 
most credit to himself. They are spending the vacations 
at home, and occupy themselves in their leisure hours 
with reviewing the lessons learned in school. They have 
just read together a masterly piece of oratory. Camille 
reads the charming pages again and again ; he sheds 
tears of emotion. This, he exclaims, is beautiful, it is 
inimitable ! it is impossible to read it without being 
moved. What beautiful images, what force of expres¬ 
sion, what delicacy of sentiment, what charming language 
is there not here ! Yes, replies Eustace, the piece is well 
composed ; if you examine it, you will find that it ob¬ 
serves all the rules of art as we learned them in school. 

Camille perceives the beauties of the piece, Eustace 
perceives them not. Camille subjects it not to dry rea¬ 
soning, he scarcely analyzes it, he reads it, and expresses 
his admiration of it in few unconnected words; Eus¬ 
tace reasons on it with all the rigor of a teacher who ex¬ 
plains the rules of rhetoric to his pupils. One sees the 
truth, the other fails to see it. In thisjca§ejhe truth can¬ 
not be perceived by the intellect alon e, the imagination 
and the heart must come to its aid. They must be 
allowed free scope, allcrwefd*Try*acT'Tiaturally, with ease, 
without being interfered with by any rules of art; then 
will we feel the merits of the composition. When once 





THE FACULTY OF PERCEPTION. 


117 

we have felt its charms, we may proceed to analyze it ac¬ 
cording to the rules of art. If, on reading it at first, we 
pay sharp attention to every word and sentence, in order 
to see whether or not it violates any of the rules we have 
learned, we will surely not appreciate its merits; sharp 
analysis fetters the soul and prevents her from soaring on 
high, where the atmosphere is pure and the vision clear. 

§ 3 . THE EVIL OF ADHERING TOO RIGIDLY TO THE ANALYTIC 
METHOD. 

Even when there is question of objects that lie not 
within the domain of the heart and the imagination, it 
may not always be advisable to analyze them too closely. 
Some minds are by nature rather synthetic than analytic, 
and no good can come from doing violence to the mind. 
I certainly do not deny that decomposition of ideas pro¬ 
duces clearness and precision of thought in very many 
cases ; yet it is very certain that many things are better 
understood when their parts are joined together in one 
whole than when they are separated. It may be useful 
to take a machine apart in order to understand its con¬ 
struction, but we will hardly obtain a perfect idea of the 
parts if we do not again join them together and give each 
its own place in the whole. Rigid analysis, the habit 
of decomposing matters, led Condillac to assert that ideas 
are simply transformed sensations. Descartes and Male- 
branche, on the contrary, by following the same method, 
arrived at the conclusion that there is nothing in the soul 
that is not purely ideal; they ended in a sort of refined 
spiritualism. Condillac attempts to explain the pheno¬ 
mena of the soul by animating a statue, giving it first the 
sense of smell, and, by degrees, the other senses. Male- 


ii8 


CRITERION. 


branche torments his brains to discover a new system that 
will more satisfactorily explain the same phenomena. Not 
finding in creatures any basis for his system, he goes to 
search for it in the very essence of God. 

Men who seem to reason on things rigidly and with all 
possible exactness often end in absurdities, because they 
look at things from only one point of view. Wedded to 
the analytic method, they decompose an object the mo¬ 
ment they take hold of it; but, unfortunately, they either 
do not notice some parts of the whole, or if they notice 
them, they do not think that they are only parts made to 
be joined to others with which they stand in close relation, 
and from which they receive their completeness. Not 
paying attention to this important fact, they change the 
highest perfections into absurd monstrosities. 

§4. THE DYER AND THE PHILOSOPHER. 

An experienced dyer is at his work in his establish¬ 
ment. He is visited by a philosopher who is an ardent 
admirer of the analytic method and a man of great pre¬ 
tensions. The philosopher begins at once to discourse 
learnedly on the nature of colors and their effects on 
cloth; in fact, he undertakes to convince the dyer that 
he will ruin his cloth by dying it as he does. Appear¬ 
ances seem to favor the philosopher’s views. Several 
pieces of cloth that have been dyed with black colors are 
not properly black, but of a grayish color. Quantities of 
green are lying about; huge kettles into which small bits 
of wood and dried leaves are thrown, boil over the fire; 
the dyer, in the mean time, mixes a variety of ingredients 
in a mortar and empties its contents into the boiling ket¬ 
tles. “ What are you doing ?” exclaims the philosopher; 


ON THE FACULTY OF PERCEPTION. 119 

“ you are ruining your cloth. In that composition there 
is the ingredient A, which, you should know, is very cor¬ 
rosive ; then there is the green B , which produces stains 
which cannot be effaced ; then there is the wood C y which 
yields a very imperfect color. In short, having examined 
your ingredients, I can assure you that you will not ob¬ 
tain the color you desire. Not only will you not bring 
the cloth up to the beautiful samples you have here, 
but you will injure it; you will incur serious losses, and 
people will say that you know nothing about dying.” 
“That cannot be,” replies the man of colors; “only 
come here after three days and judge for yourself,”—and 
he throws the cloth into the cauldrons. The philosopher 
returns at the appointed time to see the cloth which, ac¬ 
cording to his learned reasoning, should be ruined. The 
coloring is elegant, chaste, perfect, almost inimitable, it 
would seem. The learned analyst is surprised and con¬ 
founded. On his way home it occurs to him that the 
analytic method is not always a sure method for arriving 
at truth ; that there is a difference between knowing what 
a thing is in itself, and what when joined to differ things. 
For the future, he will not only decompose but likewise 
compose. He has learned a useful lesson. 

§5. OBJECTS SEEN FROM ONLY ONE POINT OF VIEW. 

A man may be endowed with very clear and acute in¬ 
telligence, and yet be mistaken in his views. He may 
develop a line of thought that exhibits an object only 
partially, and thus be led to extravagant conclusions. 

* There is scarcely a truth that cannot be proved or dis¬ 
proved by reason. It is sometimes as clear as daylight 
that reason is on our side, yet a miserable sophist attacks 




120 


CRITERION. 


us and opposes to us arguments so ingeniously worked 
out, that we are simply unable to solve them, except by 
opposing to him the dictates of prudence and common 
sense; we must, in a manner, shut ourselves up within 
the stronghold of our convictions to avoid being over¬ 
come. A remarkably shrewd and quick perception easily 
leads to sophistry, if it is not properly directed. He who 
is naturally nimble and endowed with a spirited tempera¬ 
ment, will not easily accustom himself to observe gravity 
and steadiness in his movements. 

§ 6. DISADVANTAGES THAT MAY RESULT FROM QUICKNESS 
OF PERCEPTION. 

Quickness of perception is an excellent quality, but 
they that possess it should be on their guard, lest they 
judge of things too hastily and without due reflection. 
They are in danger of looking only at the surface of 
things without penetrating into their innermost nature. 
The swallow glides over the water and catches the little 
insects that swim on the surface, but the birds that stay 
on the water and dive into it, find more substantial nour¬ 
ishment. It is hardly advisable to frequent the society 
of men who are gifted with great quickness of perception, 
if they have not accustomed themselves to calm and sober 
thought. Whether they speak or write, they charm you 
by the ease with which they do it, and there is, moreover, 
so much apparent method, clearness, precision and solidity 
In their talk and their writings, that one is led astray al¬ 
most imperceptibly. In science, their principles are clear, 
their definitions exact, their deductions natural and their 
applications happy, but this does not necessarily exclude 
superficiality and levity of mind. We sometimes gaze 


ON JUDGMENT. 


12 


with delight on shallow waters; it seems to us that we 
see golden sand at the bottom. 


Chapter XIV. 

ON JUDGMENT. 

§ I. NATURE OF JUDGMENT—SOURCES OF ERROR. 

To be able to judge correctly, it is not necessary to know 
whether judgment is distinct from perception, or whether 
it simply consists in perceiving the relation that may ex¬ 
ist between two ideas. I shall not, therefore, enter into 
these questions, but will merely observe that we then 
form a judgment, when we affirm that a thing is or is 
not, that it is in one manner or in another. This is what 
is ordinarily understood by judgment, and it is sufficient 
for my purpose. Errors of judgment frequently proceed 
from wrong perception ; hence, what I am going to say 
about judging correctly, will aid us considerably to per¬ 
ceive rightly. 

A proposition is the expression of a judgment. 

False axioms, vague propositions, inexact definitions, 
words that define nothing, gratuitous suppositions, pre¬ 
judice in favor of a theory, are the prolific sources of 
wrong perceptions and erroneous judgments. 

§ 2. FALSE AXIOMS. 

Every science needs a basis on which it may rest. Who¬ 
ever would study a science must, before all things, en- 



122 


CRITERION. 


deavor to discover this basis. The architect begins by 
laying the foundation on which the building, which he 
intends to erect, must stand. Unfortunately, it is not 
always easy to discover what is of such vital importance, 
and frequently we have not the patience to wait till future 
generations will make the desired discovery. Failing to 
discover what we need, we imagine it, and thus, instead 
of building on solid foundations, we build simply on our 
own fictions. By subtle, sophistical reasoning, a man 
may succeed in deceiving himself; what at first was not 
even a conjecture but merely a passing thought, with no 
foundation whatever, becomes at last a settled conviction. 
Exceptions are always annoying ; it is much easier to es¬ 
tablish a universal proposition and to lay it down as an 
axiom that cannot be questioned. You will, perhaps, 
soon discover that your axiom does not cover a great 
variety of cases; but this, you will think, does not detract 
from its value, for are not the terms of the proposition 
so general, obscure and even unintelligible for the precise 
reason that ample room may be left for explaining away 
whatever difficulty may seem to militate against the truth 
of the axiom ? In the mean time you draw extravagant 
deductions from your so-called principle, you base absurd 
opinions on it, and by its aid you overcome difficulties 
that are insurmountable. If a doubt should occur to you 
regarding the correctness of your principle, if the fear that 
your whole scientific structure might fall to the ground, 
should seize you, you will quiet yourself by forcing your¬ 
self to believe that your foundation is solid, that you have 
built on a principle that cannot be controverted. 

No proposition should be regarded as an infallible 
axiom, unless it is as evident as are the objects which we 


ON JUDGMENT. 123 

see immediately before us in broad daylight. If, the mo¬ 
ment it presents itself to you and you have perfectly un¬ 
derstood its terms, you do not feel perfectly convinced 
of its truth, then do not accept it as unquestionable ; it 
may be false, and when we see things in the light of 
false principles, we do not see them as they are in them¬ 
selves. The more the mind is satisfied with such prin¬ 
ciples the more dangerous will be its errors, and the diffi¬ 
culty of correcting them is proportionate to the firmness 
of our conviction of their truth. 

§ 3 . PROPOSITIONS THAT ARE TOO GENERAL. 

If the essences of things were known to us we could 
easily lay down general propositions regarding them. 
These propositions would necessarily apply to all cases 
without exception, for the essence of things being the 
same in all individuals of the same species, it follows that 
what is asserted of one, may, with equal truth, be asserted 
of all others. But as we know so little, and frequently 
even nothing at all, about the intrinsic nature of things, 
we generally confine ourselves merely to their attributes 
when we speak of them. Even of these attributes we are 
often unable to say whether they are grounded on the es¬ 
sence of things or are purely accidental. Hence it hap¬ 
pens that general propositions are so often faulty; being 
merely the expressions of what we perceive and judge, 
they cannot contain anything beyond that. There may 
be a thousand exceptions to them, which we do not per¬ 
ceive, and we may even establish that as a rule,which in 
truth is only an exception to a rule to us unknown. This 
may happen even to a careful student. How much more 
easily may it not happen to others ? 


124 


CRITERION. 


§4. INEXACT DEFINITIONS. 

What we have said of axioms may, to a very great ex¬ 
tent, be said of definitions, for they direct our perception 
and judgment and form the basis of our scientific reason¬ 
ings. It is by no means so easy to give an exact defini¬ 
tion as some imagine; frequently it is even impossible to 
give it. The reason is obvious. The definition explains 
the intrinsic nature of the thing defined, and how can 
we explain what we do not know? Yet, notwithstand¬ 
ing this difficulty, every science has definitions that are 
commonly admitted to be correct; and although scien¬ 
tists frequently reject the definitions given by others, yet 
they strive to supply others in their place ; these they 
adopt in their writings and on them they base their rea¬ 
sonings. If a definition must explain the essence of a 
thing, if it is so difficult to know what is this essence, 
why then do men define things with such precipitate 
facility ! In our investigations we aim at knowing the 
nature of things ; the proposition which expresses this 
nature, in other words, the definition, should be the last 
thing we arrive at in our solution of the problem. 

What we can most easily define, is the nature of con¬ 
ventional beings, for we ourselves have given these beings 
their nature and therefore we knowtheir constituent ele¬ 
ments perfectly. As we are in many cases unable to de¬ 
fine things strictly, we must at least endeavor to explain 
what we mean when we speak of them, or we must ex¬ 
plain what we mean by the names which we give them. 
I do not know what the sun is; I do not know its nature 
and therefore cannot define it, but I know what the word 
“sun” signifies, and I can easily describe what I mean 
by it when I use it. 


ON JUDGMENT. 


125 


What is the sun ? I do not know. What do you un¬ 
derstand by the word ‘ ‘ sun ?” I understand a luminary, 
at whose appearance on the horizon day begins, at whose 
disappearance night sets in. What we have so far said, 
naturally leads us to treat of words whose meaning is 
badly defined. 

§ 5 . WORDS WHOSE MEANING IS NOT SUFFICIENTLY DEFINED 
-MEANING OF THE WORD ‘ ‘EQUALITY. ” 

Nothing seems more easy than the definition of a word. 
It seems quite natural that he who uses a word, should 
know what it means and be able to define it. Yet ex¬ 
perience shows that few men are able to attach to the 
words which they use, their precise meaning. The diffi¬ 
culty of doing this results chiefly from having confused 
ideas about things, and the inability to express what we 
indistinctly conceive, often increases the confusion of our 
ideas. You often hear men of no mean talents warmly 
disputing about a question. They contradict each other 
sharply, each one tries to reduce his antagonist to silence ; 
you would imagine that they are deadly enemies. If you 
wish to act the part of a peacemaker between the two, and 
to show them that they are both mistaken, examine closely 
the word which expresses the chief point in question. 
Ask each one what he understands by that word ? It will 
frequently happen that neither of the two will be able 
to give you an answer, or if they attempt to answer they 
will do it in vague terms that are unconnected and con¬ 
tain no definite sense. They thus show, evidently, that 
they were not prepared for your question. Within a 
quarter of an hour they have used the word a hundred 
times without even suspecting that they did not know 


126 


CRITERION. 


what it means. But let us suppose that each one will 
give a ready answer to your question ; rest assured that 
one will not accept the definition of the word which the 
other gives ; instead of continuing their former dispute, 
their fight now turns on the meaning of words. Thus, 
whilst they were angrily contradicting each other, there 
existed probably no difference of opinion between them. 

There are some words that seem to have been coined 
for the purpose of confusing men’s minds ; they are words 
that have a vague, general meaning, without expressing 
any precise idea, and they are therefore applicable to a 
variety of objects. Everybody makes use of these words 
and attaches his own meaning to them, whilst, perhaps, 
no two persons ever use them in the same sense. The 
result is a horrible confusion of ideas from which it will 
be almost impossible to extricate one’s-self. Let us take 
the word ‘ ‘ equality ” as an illustration. 

Equality among men, a speaker tells you, was estab¬ 
lished by God himself; all men come into the world in 
a state of utter helplessness, and all leave it in sorrow ; 
nature makes no distinction between the rich and the 
poor man, between the nobleman and the plebeian ; re¬ 
ligion itself tells us that all men have a common origin, 
and that the end of all is the same. Inequality is the 
work of man, it was human perverseness that introduced 
into the world the shocking distinction between man and 
man, by raising one man above the other, and it is only 
ignorance and the forgetfulness of their own dignity that 
induces men to submit to this unnatural distinction. 
Pride is flattered by words like these ; they sound well, 
and it cannot be denied that they contain a shadow of 
truth. Yet, whilst this speaker has asserted important 


ON JUDGMENT. 


I27 


truths, he has also uttered capital errors. In his speech 
he has magnificently mixed up truth with error. His 
ideas are couched in language that will deceive superfi¬ 
cial minds, but will not make the slightest impression 
on a solid thinker, for he will at once perceive the ri¬ 
diculous confusion of ideas which the speaker betrays. 
Whence comes this confusion? From the fact that he 
misunderstands the word “equality he applies it to ob¬ 
jects that are as different from each other as heaven is 
from earth ; from this confusion of ideas he draws con¬ 
clusions that are positively erroneous and dangerous, 
though he has the greatest confidence in their correct¬ 
ness. 

Shall we overthrow with a single blow what he has built 
up ? It is easy to do it. 

What do you mean by 4 ‘ equality ?” 

Equality—equality—why the meaning of the word is 
very clear. 

Yet it will be well for you to tell us what you mean by 
the word. 

Equality among men consists in this, that one man is 
not more than another. 

But, my dear friend, this may be understood in vari¬ 
ous senses. Two men, for example, measure six feet 
each, so they are equal to each other in this respect; yet 
one man may have as much corpulency as the Governor 
of the island of Barataria, whilst the other may be as lean 
as the Knight of the Sorrowful Figure. Besides, men 
may be equal or unequal to each other in knowledge, 
virtue, nobility and a thousand other points. It will, 
therefore, be well to define at once the meaning of the 
word—eq uali ty. 


128 


CRITERION. 


I speak of natural equality, of the equality established 
by the Creator Himself, to whose laws all must submit. 

Do you then mean to say that men are equal to each 
other in nature only ? 

Exactly, that is what I mean. 

Yet I see that nature makes some men robust and 
others delicate; some beautiful and others deformed ; 
some stupid and others intelligent; to some it gives 
peaceful dispositions, whilst others have naturally a vio¬ 
lent temper. There is, therefore, a great natural in¬ 
equality among men. What, then, do you mean by the 
equality established by nature ? 

But the inequality you mention does not destroy equal 
rights. 

I will excuse you for having already completely changed 
the state of the question by giving up entirely, or at least, 
modifying considerably, your theory about natural equal¬ 
ity ; but I must tell you that neither do I admit your so- 
called equal-rights theory. Would you assert that a child 
a few years old has a right to contend with its father or to 
chastise him ? 

Why, you talk absurdly. 

I do not; equality of rights would demand nothing 
less than this. Or if it be not so, yon should tell me of 
what rights you speak, who are to enjoy these rights and 
who not? 

I speak only of social equality. 

You did not speak of this alone a moment ago; your 
words were general and implied much more. It seems, 
in fact, that when you are beaten on one field you at once 
transfer the scene of combat to another. But let us see 
about this social equality of which you speak. This, I 


ON JUDGMENT. 


129 


presume, means that in society all men should be equal. 
Equal in what ? In authority ? Then no government 
is possible. Equal in their possessions ? Be it so ; leav¬ 
ing justice aside, let us agree to an equal distribution of 
goods. In less than one hour a shrewd gambler will 
have lightened the purse of his companion, and where is 
their equality ? In a few days the industrious business 
man will have increased his capital, whilst the dissipated, 
careless man will have consumed a great part of what he 
received : here again you have inequality. Make your 
division of goods as often as you please, you will invari¬ 
ably find fortunes increasing and diminishing. In what 
then is social equality to consist ? Is it to consist in 
equality of honors ? But surely you will not ask me to 
respect the scoundrel as I respect a man of honor ! Or 
are men to be equal in the management of public affairs ? 
Shall we place the man who does not even understand 
what diplomacy means on an equal footing with Metter- 
nich ? And even if this could be done, how could pub¬ 
lic affairs be managed at all if every individual were to 
manage them ? 

This, of course, is impossible; but what can prevent 
men from being equal before the law ? 

There, you have shifted the question again ; you start 
off on a new line of defence. The law says that he who 
sells contraband goods shall pay a fine of fifty dollars, or 
be imprisoned for ten days. The rich man pays the fine 
and laughs at the law; the poor man is thrown into 
prison. Where is equality here ? 

But this is precisely what should not be ; penalties for 
offences should be fixed so that they will reach all offen¬ 
ders in the same manner. 


130 


CRITERION. 


Very well, but then there would be no more fines, and 
fines are very useful to governments, for they often re¬ 
plenish their exhaustad treasuries. Besides, it is easy to 
show that this pretended equality is not possible in any 
supposition. The law imposes a fine of five hundred 
dollars on contrabandists; two men have incurred the 
penalty and both are able to pay it, but one of the two 
is a wealthy banker, the other a hard-working mechanic. 
The penalty does not affect the banker, but it ruins the 
mechanic. Now, is the penalty equal in this case ? 

It certainly is not, but how can that be remedied ? 

It cannot be remedied at all, and hence I maintain that 
however charming the theory of equality may be, it is 
practically little more than an absurdity. If we suppose 
the penalty to consist in corporal punishment, the in¬ 
equality will yet be the same. The rude, ignorant man, 
who has no sense of his own dignity, may be whipped or 
pilloried or condemned to the galleys, and he will ex¬ 
hibit little more than stoic indifference, whilst to one of 
refined manners and feelings death itself would be pre¬ 
ferable to such punishment. The severity of a penalty 
does not consist so much in the punishment that is in¬ 
flicted as in the impressions which it makes on the culprit; 
and as these impressions differ according to the different 
culprits that are punished, it follows that there can be 
no such thing as equality of punishment. Do what you 
will you cannot change the nature of things; perfect 
equality is, indeed, charming in itself, but in practical 
life it is an impossiblility. 

Thus, by defining a word and pointing out the various 
applications that can be made of it, we have exposed the 
sophisms of our pompous orator ; we have made it clear 


ON JUDGMENT. 


13 


that he either talked absurdities or told us nothing we 
did not know before, for surely the fact that we are all 
born and that we all die in the same manner, is no very 
important discovery. 

§ 6. GRATUITOUS SUPPOSITIONS-THE PRECIPICE 

When we fail to discover a general proposition on which 
we can base our assertions, we sometimes assume facts 
that contain no more truth or certainty than we are will¬ 
ing to attribute to them. Whence originate all the 
systems by which scientists pretend to explain the phe¬ 
nomena of nature ? They frequently have no other origin 
than merely gratuitous suppositions that have no founda¬ 
tion whatever in reality. On such suppositions scientists 
often ground their whole theories. The best minds may 
fall into this mistake, when there are no positive data by 
which the origin and nature of a phenomenon may be 
explained. An effect may proceed from a thousand 
causes, but this does not tell me from what cause it really 
has proceeded. I may admire the talents of the man who 
discovers an hypothesis by which a phenomenon may be 
satisfactorily accounted for; but if the same phenomenoi} 
may be accounted for by a different hypothesis, whal; ^m 
I to believe ? 

The error of attributing effects to causes that may have 
produced them, of passing from that which may be to 
that which is, is more common than is generally believed. 
It is especially easy to fall into this error when the fact 
between which it is sought to establish the relationship 
of cause and effect, either exist together or generally suc¬ 
ceed each other. At times we do not even take the pains 
to ascertain, whether or not the fact to which we attribute 


132 


CRITERION. 


an effect exists ; we are satisfied with the knowledge that 
it may exist and that it may produce such an effect. 

At the bottom of a precipice the corpse of a man has 
been discovered. The appearance of the body indicates 
that death was caused by falling into the precipice. Three 
suppositions may account for death in this case. The 
fall may have been accidental ; the dead man may have 
committed deliberate suicide ; or he may have been foul¬ 
ly dealt with by others. The effect would be the same 
in each of the three suppositions. So far we do not know 
to which of the three supposed causes death should be 
ascribed. A crowd of curious persons view the scene of 
the disaster, every one is anxious to find out how the un¬ 
fortunate man came to his death. The moment the 
slightest sign in favor of a supposition is discovered con¬ 
jectures are formed without number, and you hear such 
expressions as * * It is so-—-it is certain, it cannot be other¬ 
wise, it may not be possible to prove it before the tribu¬ 
nals, but there cannot be any doubt of the fact.” 

And what are the signs in the case ? A few hours be¬ 
fore the corpse was discovered, the deceased was seen 
near the fatal spot; he was reading some papers ; oc¬ 
casionally he would stand still apparently lost in thought, 
he gave evident signs of nervous excitement. It is 
known, moreover, that during the last few days he had 
met with serious reverses of fortune; his family affairs 
went on badly. Everybody that saw him could see in 
his features that he suffered greatly from mental depres¬ 
sion. It is certain that this man has committed suicide. 
There can be no murder here ; it was so near his house. 
Besides murder is not committed in this manner. It 
cannot be supposed that he fell by accident; he knew 


ON JUDGMENT. 


133 


the place well, he was not distracted in his mind. The 
unfortunate man saw himself importuned by his credi¬ 
tors ; the mail arrived this morning, he probably received 
notice from one of his creditors that he must absolutely 
settle his account; driven to despair, he sought relief in 
death. 

“Yes, yes,” exclaim some of the bystanders, “you are 
right, to-day the mail arrived, it must be as you say 1” 

In the mean time the coroner arrives to institute an in¬ 
vestigation. He opens the portfolio of the deceased and 
finds two letters. There it is ? we said so, the mail of 
this morning! 

One letter is from N, his correspondent in the city N. 

Precisely. He had heavy liabilities there. 

The letter is couched in the following words ; ‘ ‘ Dear 
sir! I have just come from the meeting which, you 
know, was to take place to-day. Some clamored for set¬ 
tlement, but through the aid of your friends N N. I suc¬ 
ceeded in quieting their fears. For the present, you need 
not be uneasy ; if your son should succeed in that Ameri¬ 
can business, as he most probably will, all will be right; 
your fortune and your eredit will be re-established. The 
next mail will bring you further details. I was anxious 
to let you have this interesting news without delay. In 
haste, I remain, etc., etc.” 

Would a letter like this induce a man to commit sui¬ 
cide ? 

But let us hear the other letter. It is from his son. 
It will surely contain bad news. 

It reads thus : “My dear father! I arrived indue 
time. A few hours after my arrival our affairs were satis¬ 
factorily settled. Mr. N. was at the bottom of all our 


34 


CRITERION. 


trouble ; he has abused our confidence. He had no idea 
that I was coming; the moment he saw me he turned 
as pale as death. Seeing him so completely discon¬ 
certed, I at once seized all his correspondence. Whilst 
I was doing this he disappeared ; I have not seen him 
since and do not know where he is. We have lost noth¬ 
ing except a trifling little sum not worth mentioning. I 
write in great haste, because the steamer is about to leave, 
etc., etc.” 

The mail of to-day does not confirm the theory of 
suicide. The man of conjectures has indeed done honor 
to himself. He passed from possibility to reality and 
based his conjectures on his own gratuitous suppositions. 
He was deceived by his own plausible explanation of the 
affair. 

Can murder have been committed here ? 

Certainly, for with such letters . . . besides, the de¬ 
ceased had enemies. 

The other day one of his neighbors uttered horrible 
threats against him. 

He is a dangerous man. 

He is terrible, he would shrink from nothing. Every 
body is afraid of him. 

What were the feelings that existed between them ? 

They were not friendly. This morning, as the two 
left the house of the deceased together, they were heard 
to speak very loudly. 

Was the man accustomed to come to this place ? 

He has frequently been seen here. A few yards from 
this spot he owns a field, and, let it be Said between our¬ 
selves, he and deceased have had serious quarrels about 
the oak trees on the brink of this precipice. A few days 


ON JUDGMENT. 135 

ago they almost came to blows on this very spot. They 
quarrelled almost every day. Oh, it is terrible ! 

That explains all . . . it is murder . . . but how 
can it be proved ? 

Do you observe that the man is not about his premises 
to-day ? His tools are there in the field, this very morn¬ 
ing he was seen at his work . . . there can be no doubt 
in the matter ... it is clear . . . the unhappy man is 
ruined, all will come to light. 

A man arrives from a neighboring village. 

What a misfortune ! 

Did you not know it ? 

No, I just heard it in the house of the deceased, 
went there to see, whether he had come to terms with N, 
who was arrested this morning. 

Is he arrested ? 

Yes, sir; his wife came to me weeping ; she said that 
he had talked violently against the authorities, and was 
arrested in consequence. 

At what o’clock did this happen ? 

At such an hour. 

At that hour deceased was in his house. When he 
came to his death the supposed murderer was in prison. 
Do not, then, trust too much to appearances, to gratu¬ 
itous suppositions ; do not conclude that because a thing 
may be it therefore is. 

§7. PREJUDICE IN FAVOR OF A DOCTRINE. 

This is one of the most prolific sources of error; it is 
a dangerous rock on which scientists frequently make 
shipwreck, and it is the obstacle which more than any 
other retards the progress of science. That the influ- 


CRITERION. 


136 

ence of prejudice is so great, would be incredible if the 
histoiy of the human mind did not furnish so many facts 
that prove it beyond the possibility of a doubt. 

When a man is influenced by prejudice he does not 
study in order to discover the truth, but in order to dis¬ 
cover what best suits himself. He may not be aware of 
this himself; prejudice blinds him so that whilst he is so 
completely under its sway, he yet thinks that he is ani¬ 
mated by a sincere love for truth. The education we 
have received, the teachers and writers that first formed 
our minds, the persons with whom we live or whose so¬ 
ciety we frequent, our profession or state of life; these and 
similar circumstances contribute powerfully to engender in 
us the habit of always looking at things from only one 
point of view, and thus we fail to see them such as they are 
in reality. The moment we begin the study of a science, 
teachers give us certain axioms with as much confidence 
in their truth as if they were divinely revealed ; they lay 
down general propositions about whose correctness they 
seem not to entertain the slightest doubt, whilst they 
never direct our attention to the reasons that militate in 
favor of a contrary doctrine, or if they mention these rea¬ 
sons, they do not mention them as proofs to be examined, 
but merely as objections to be solved. If any one of the 
reasons by which they seek to establish their doctrine 
seems not to be sufficiently conclusive, they at once seek 
to give it force by adding other reasons to it; they tell us 
that it is not the only reason why they defend their the¬ 
ory, and whilst they admit that it alone would not be con¬ 
clusive, they yet tell us that it weighs in the balance when 
joined to others, and that it gives to these others addi¬ 
tional force. If an opponent urges objections that seem 


ON JUDGMENT. 


137 


to be more than plausible, they will give a variety of solu¬ 
tions, and then try to supply by numbers what the solu¬ 
tions lack in solidity. Mr. A solves the difficulty in this 
manner; Mr. i? gives that answer; Mr. C says that the 
objection can be solved thus. Any one of these answers 
is satisfactory ; select the one that satisfies you most, and 
your opponent will be reduced to silence. 

Our learned professors do not aim at convincing you 
in this contest, they aim at defeating you ; their self-love 
has been assailed, and every one knows the wretched sub¬ 
terfuges to which self-love has recourse when it is aroused. 
It gives reality to every shadow of argument that seems to 
be in our favor; it ridicules the force of our opponent’s 
reasoning; it disguises the true point of his objections. 
An innate sense of sincerity will sometimes protest against 
this mode of proceeding; but its voice is stifled by the 
noisy tumult of contrary passions. If it were not so, how 
could the fact be explained that during so many centuries 
the most admirably organized schools have, like so many 
armies opposed to each other, grouped around different 
banners ? How could the fact be explained that different 
hosts of men, illustrious not less for piety than for learn¬ 
ing, invariably see a question from one point of view, 
whilst their not less illustrious opponents view the same 
question in a quite different light ? And whence comes 
it, that in order to know what were the opinions of a 
writer, it is not at all necessary to read his works, but 
sufficient to know to what school he belonged ? Could 
he have been ignorant of his subject when he had spent 
his life in studying it? Or did he perhaps not read 
the writings of his opponents ? This may have happened 
in individual cases, but as a rule it cannot be supposed 


38 


CRITERION. 


to have been true. We might, perhaps, accuse such 
writers of bad faith, but their well-known virtue would 
more than refute the charge. The reason for this is the 
one pointed out above : before a man leads another into 
error he is frequently deceived himself. He espouses a 
system, studies well all its strong points, defends it man¬ 
fully, and in proportion to the number and strength of his 
adversaries, his valor increases ; he seems to say to him¬ 
self : This is my position, I must hold it, I must de¬ 
fend it bravely, it is better to die in arms than to live 
and be branded with cowardice. Hence, whenever we 
would convince others, we must carefully separate the 
cause of truth from the cause of self-love ; it is important 
to let the adversary see that submission may be honor¬ 
able, whilst obstinacy argues a contemptible spirit of 
pride. Be especially careful not to let him see that you 
do not respect his abilities, otherwise the conflict will grow 
furious; you may throw him down and point the dagger 
at his breast, but he will not acknowledge that he is de¬ 
feated. Language gives you words, kind and courteous ; 
be not sparing of them when you perceive that your ad¬ 
versary is inclined to be obstinate ; you will thus lay the 
storm of passion or prevent it from bursting forth : you 
will induce your adversary to submit to reason, and you 
will have the satisfaction of knowing that he thinks of you 
with respect and kindly feelings. 


Chapter XV. 


ON REASONING. 

§ I. VALUE OF DIALECTIC RULES. 

Logicians lay down various rules which they ground 
on certain axioms, in order to teach us the art of reason¬ 
ing. I will not question the truth of the axioms, but I 
am inclined to think that the rules are not quite so im¬ 
portant as some have imagined. I do not deny that 
‘ f when two things are each equal to a third thing, they 
are equal to each other, ” that ‘ ‘ when of two things that 
are equal to each other one is not equal to a third thing, 
the other cannot be equal to the third either that what 
is affirmed or denied of a genus or species may be af¬ 
firmed or denied of every individual contained in that 
genus or species. It is likewise very true that the laws 
of reasoning that are based on these self-evident princi¬ 
ples are absolutely infallible. The difficulty, I appre¬ 
hend, lies in the application of these laws, and it is this 
very difficulty that detracts from the utility of the rules. 
I readily acknowledge that rules for reasoning give the 
mind of the student a certain precision,which enables 
him to see clearly the force of an argument, or to detect 
the sophisms which it may contain; but I fear that this 
advantage is considerably diminished by the presumption 


140 


CRITERION. 


which is easily engendered ; that we reason correctly in 
every case, because we know perfectly the laws of reason¬ 
ing. A perfect knowledge of the rules of an art will not 
hinder us from making mistakes in applying them. A 
student may recite from memory all the laws of composi¬ 
tion without omitting a syllable, yet he may not be able 
to write a page without offending, not only against those 
laws, but against ordinary common sense. 

§ 2. THE SYLLOGISM-REMARKS ON THIS FORM OF REA¬ 

SONING. 

To enable us to form an idea of the utility of syllogistic 
rules, we may observe that when we make an argument 
we do not even think of these rules, except when we wish 
to argue according to the strict scholastic forms, a prac¬ 
tice that has almost grown obsolete. The examples by 
which these rules are illustrated are so simple that the 
moment the pupil hears an argument he can generally 
tell at once whether it violates any rule or not. Lo¬ 
gicians give a variety of such examples ; they may be 
good enough to amuse the student whilst he is in the 
class-room, but outside of school he will not even think 
of them. “Every virtue is praisworthy ; justice is a vir¬ 
tue, therefore justice is praisworthy.” This is excellent. 
On leaving school a case presents itself where I have to 
decide whether justice has been offended or not, whether 
or not the law should punish the deed committed. I 
consider the nature of justice, analyze the principles on 
which it rests, study the advantages that flow from it to 
individuals and society at large. How does the example 
I heard in school assist me to make these reflections ? Do 
theologians and jurists think of the rules of syllogisms 


ON REASONING. 141 

when they have to decide on the merits of a case that 
comes up ? 

‘ * Every metal is a mineral ; gold is a metal, therefore 
gold is a mineral.” “No animal is insensitive; fishes 
are animals, therefore fishes are not insensitive.” “ Peter 
deserves blame ; this man is Peter, therefore this man de¬ 
serves blame. ” ‘ ‘ This gold has not the required weight ; 
John gave me this gold, therefore John gave me gold that 
has not the required weight. ” Every treatise on logic con¬ 
tains a variety of examples like these. Of what benefit 
are they to the student ? 

The difficulties encountered in reasoning do not con¬ 
sist in frivolous technicalities that teach nothing and are 
only good to amuse boys. In real life the examples we 
committed to memory in school are of little or no bene¬ 
fit, for we either pay no attention to them or, if we do, 
we soon grow fatigued and abandon the attempt. I know 
a gentleman who never made an argument which he did 
not put to the test of dialectic rules ; in my intercourse 
with him I failed to observe that he reasoned differently, 
or better than other men. Let us analyze a few such ex¬ 
amples and test their utility. 

We have to find out who is the owner of a certain es¬ 
tate. We know that all the property of the family A 
should by right belong to the family B, which is at pre¬ 
sent in possession of it. But a lawsuit has been insti¬ 
tuted about the ownership of the property. It is clear 
that the syllogism which the actual possessor should make 
here would be the following : The estate of the family A 
belongs by right to me ; this is the estate of the family A, 
therefore it belongs to me. In order not to complicate 
the case let us suppose that there is no difficulty about 


142 


CRITERION. 


the first or major proposition, and that the whole dispute 
turns on the second or minor; in other words, the point 
to be proved is that the estate in question belonged to 
the family A. How will this be proved ? Is it by re¬ 
calling to mind the rules of syllogisms ? But what need 
is there of such rules when once you have established the 
fact that the family A owned the estate? You certainly 
reason, reason even syllogistically, if you will, but your 
conclusion flows so obviously from your premises that it 
would be simply absurd to lay down any rules for draw¬ 
ing it. You must then find out, not the correctness of 
the argument, but the titles of the family B to the estate 
of the family A. You must see what testamentary dispo¬ 
sition was made of the estate. Whether it was acquired 
by purchase or donation. This you can only find out by 
attending to the rules that enable you to discover the 
truth from many complicated and conflicting documents. 
It would be interesting to know how often the lawyers, 
and the judge, and the parties interested in the case think 
of the laws of syllogisms during the process of the trial. 

Money that has not the qualities legally prescribed 
should not be received ; this money has not these quali¬ 
ties, therefore it should not be received. This argument 
is perfectly correct and perfectly useless. When I know 
the existing ^monetary laws, when I know further that 
the money offered to me has not the conditions pre¬ 
scribed, I refuse to take it without making any syllogism 
to prove that I may lawfully refuse it; nor will he that 
offers me the money make a syllogism to prove that my 
conclusion does not flow legitimately from my premises. 
He will perhaps say that I do not rightly interpret the 
law ; that I have not sufficiently examined the money, 


ON REASONING. 


143 


but he surely will not mention rules of logic. When 
the mind reasons, it does not reflect on its own act, even 
as the eye, when it sees, does not make contortions to see 
itself. An idea presents itself; we see it more or less 
distinctly ; we see other ideas contained in it; we recol¬ 
lect ideas we had before, and thus we reason naturally 
and with ease, without troubling ourselves about the rea¬ 
son of what we think. 

§ 3. THE ENTHYMEME. 

The enthymeme is an abridged syllogism, or a syllogism 
in which one of the premises is not expressed. This is 
the most ordinary form of reasoning. Whatever intrin¬ 
sic value it possesses, it derives from the syllogism, but 
it would be a waste of time and absurd,to go through the 
formality of a regular syllogism every time we make an 
argument. If we would reduce the last syllogism which 
we gave in the preceding paragraph, to the form of an 
enthymeme, we would express it thus : This money has 
not the qualities prescribed by law, therefore I will not 
take it; or, more briefly, I will not take it, it is too 
light. 

§4. REMARKS ON THE MIDDLE TERM. 

In forming a syllogism, we compare two terms with a 
third or middle term, in order to discover whether the 
two agree with each other or not. When the two terms, 
which are called in logic,extremes, and the middle term, 
are known and present to the mind, this comparison is 
made without difficulty; we at once perceive that the 
conclusion is contained in the premises, and no rule is 
necessary to enable us to draw it. But when we deal 


144 


CRITERION. 


with subjects, with whose nature we are not acquainted, 
how are we to discover the extremes and the middle 
term ? I wish to prove that the mineral which I hold in 
my hand has a certain quality. If I know that it is gold 
I will easily prove my point; but if I do not know this, 
how shall I be able to prove it ? The judge knows 
that he who is guilty of murder should be condemned ; 
but it does not even occur to him that the prisoner at the 
bar is guilty of murder, and if he suspected him of the 
murder he could not convict him for want of sufficient 
evidence. He kno^s the two extremes but he knows 
not the middle term. Will any law of dialectics suggest 
that term to him ? What is the prisoner’s name ? Where 
does he ordinarily reside ? What has been his conduct 
hitherto ? Where was he at the time the murder was 
committed ? Did any one see him near the place where 
the murdered man was found ? His clothing, stature, 
physiognomy, stains of blood discovered on his person, 
the concealed weapon, the nervous agitation in which he 
came home at a late hour on the night of the murder, 
objects found in his possession which resemble articles 
that the murdered man was known to possess, the con¬ 
tradictions in which he is caught, his well-known hatred 
for the murdered man, these are the middle terms to be 
used in this case; they are the links that form the chain 
of evidence by which the prisoners guilt is to be estab¬ 
lished. But how do the laws of dialectics aid us to dis¬ 
cover these facts ? Here we have to pay special attention 
to a word, there a particular fact must be taken into con¬ 
sideration, again we must examine a sign that looks sus¬ 
picious, we must sharply analyze coincidences, pay at¬ 
tention to the physical qualities of the accused, to his 


ON REASONING. 


145 


moral and social habits; the witnesses must be closely 
examined, in short, the judge must look at the case from 
every possible point of view, he must scrupulously weigh 
every fact bearing on it, so that the guilty party may not 
escape just punishment and the innocent may not be 
made to suffer unjustly. 

The examples that are so abundantly given in treatises 
of logic, are of little practical value. It would be a mis¬ 
take to suppose that we are sound reasoners because we 
are thoroughly acquainted with the mechanical structure 
of an argument. If what I have hitherto said does not 
convince us of this, then unpleasant experience will 
sooner or later do it. 

§ 5. UTILITY OF DIALECTICS. 

I do not, however, mean to assert that the rules of logic 
are absolutely useless. These rules may not enable us to 
discover new truths, but they will enable us to state argu¬ 
ments with clearness and precision, and thus they may 
be valuable to teachers especially. We would not, there¬ 
fore, have them expunged from our books on elementary 
education ; on the contrary, let them be retained in their 
full force. It might, however, be desirable to see them 
stated somewhat less dryly than they generally are. Mel¬ 
chior Canus very properly called syllogisms the nerves and 
bones of an argument. Do not destroy these nerves and 
bones, but cover them with delicate flesh and skin, so that 
they may not look repulsive. The tendency of scientists 
in our times is to despise the forms of dialectics, but they 
fall into the opposite error, and science and the cause of 
truth suffer in consequence. In former times men ex¬ 
hibited merely the skeleton of an argument ; at present 


146 


CRITERION. 


they dress this skeleton in such gaudy forms that it is al¬ 
most impossible to recognise it. They express their 
arguments in language that sounds well, and would be 
pleasing if it were only possible that words without any 
meaning could please and convince. Est modus in rebus. 


Chapter XVI. 

IT IS NOT BY REASONING ALONE THAT TRUTH 
IS DISCOVERED. 

§ I. INSPIRATION. 

It is an error to suppose that great thoughts are the 
offspring of reasoning. By reasoning we prove the cor¬ 
rectness of our views, but do not discover new truths. 
Almost all that is beautiful, sublime and stupendous in the 
ideal world is the result of inspiration, and is discovered 
by the aid of a sudden light that bursts forth on the in¬ 
tellect, without our being able to assign a reason for it. 
I call this light inspiration, because no other word so 
well expresses this intellectual phenomenon. 

A mathematician undertakes to solve some difficult 
problem ; he examines all his data carefully, omits noth¬ 
ing that can assist him to arrive at the solution ; but the 
solution is sought in vain. He changes his figures, 
operates with different quantities to test the correctness 
of his process, but all to no purpose ; his experiments 
do not lead to the desired solution. Tired of his fruit- 



INSPIRATION. 


147 


less attempts, he at last lays down his pencil; his mind 
is bewildered, he scarcely knows whether he thinks of 
his subject or not. He resembles a man who has made 
repeated attempts to open a well-closed door : finding 
that his attempts are useless, he at last sits down, hop¬ 
ing that some one will come and open the door for him. 
I have it! he exclaims on a sudden, I have it! and, like 
another Archimedes, leaps out of his bath and runs about 
exclaiming in ecstacy : “I have found it! I have found 
it!” 

It sometimes happens that after many hours of serious 
meditation we are yet unable to arrive at a conclusion, and 
a few moments later, whilst we are distracted or ab¬ 
sorbed in other thoughts, a mysterious light flashes on the 
mind, and we perceive the truth at a glance. St. Thomas 
of Aquin was once invited to dinner by the King of 
France. It is reasonable to suppose that profound theo¬ 
logical studies did not engage his thoughts whilst he was 
at table with the King. But in the solitude of his cell 
he had been, in the morning, engaged in his favorite 
studies. Thoughts that had occurred to him in the morn¬ 
ing probably returned to his mind occasionally during 
dinner ; but be that as it may, he suddenly forgets his 
King and his dinner, strikes the table with his hand, and 
exclaims: ‘ ‘ This decides the point against the Mani- 
chees I” 

§ 2. MEDITATION. 

When we wish to study a question thoroughly,we do 
not take the rule and compass in order to trace the di¬ 
rections the mind is to follow. On the contrary, the 
mind is generally absorbed in profound meditation, with- 


148 


CRITERION. 


out being even conscious of its own thought. It looks 
at its subject from various points of view ; it reflects on 
what is essential to it and what is only accidental; it does 
not clearly see the end at which it will arrive, nor does 
it follow any laid out path that will lead to a known 
end ; it rather imitates the conduct of a man who desires 
to discover a treasure which he suspects lies hidden some¬ 
where in the bowels of the earth; he digs in different di¬ 
rections, hoping thus to discover the spot where the trea¬ 
sure lies concealed. 

We cannot act otherwise unless we know the truth 
already without being in need of searching after it. When 
a man knows the nature of a mineral and wishes to tell 
others what he knows about it, he adopts the shortest and 
simplest method possible. But when he knows not its 
nature, he looks at it repeatedly, observes its color, its 
form, its weight, and bases his conjectures on his observa¬ 
tions. By the aid of various experiments he finally dis¬ 
covers its nature. 

§ 3 . INVENTION AND INSTRUCTION. 

The method which the teacher adopts is very different 
from that adopted by the inventor. The teacher knows 
exactly whither he tends ; he knows the road he must 
take, for he has travelled it before ; the inventor, on the 
contrary, may not have any definite object in view, or if 
he proposes to himself a given object, he may possibly 
not know whether it exists in reality or in his imagination 
only; he may not know whether it is attainable, or by 
what means it can be attained. Hence the difference in 
the methods pursued by the two. We are indebted to 
geometry for the infinitesimal calculus, and a long series 


INVENTION AND INSTRUCTION. 


149 


of purely algebraic operations has at last led us to the 
geometrical applications of this calculus. A solitary sum¬ 
mit arises above a chain of lofty and steep mountains and 
exhibits the ruins of an ancient castle. A courageous 
traveller, prompted by curiosity, determines to explore 
these ruins. He winds his way along narrow, rug¬ 
ged paths, -walks on the brink of frightful precipices, 
-passes, or rather climbs from one rock to another, hold- 
- ing on to the tender shrubs and rotten roots which here 
and there protrude from the crevices. Thus he continues 
his dangerous ascent till at last, exhausted by fatigue and 
bathed in perspiration, he reaches the summit and tri¬ 
umphantly exclaims: “I have succeeded!” His eye 
now wanders leisurely over the neighboring mountains; 
he sees their spurs and edges and irregular declivities ; he 
sees the different places where he had attempted to effect 
his ascent, and laughs at his folly in trying to pass places 
so utterly impassible; he sees, too, the dangers which 
he has just escaped, for a single false step might have 
been instant death, and he wonders greatly at the manly 
courage he has displayed. At the foot of the mountain 
he sees his companions, who had not the courage to fol¬ 
low him, and will not venture to do it, even after having 
witnessed his succesful ascent. Away at some distance 
he espies a solitary path winding around the mountain 
sides ; his companions below do not see it; he therefore 
goes down and points it out to them : they follow him 
with ease and safety and are enabled to gaze on the ma¬ 
jestic ruins of ancient grandeur, and the magnificent 
sceneries outspread beneath the mountain’s lofty brow. 


150 


CRITERION. 


§4. INTUITION. 

Do not suppose, however, that the efforts of genius 
are always so laborious and fatiguing; on^ofthe distinc¬ 
tive characteristics of genius is its ability to see at a glance, 
withbuFeTforforlabor, what less gifted minds do not dis¬ 
cover without serious application. An object may seem 
to ordinary minds to be enveloped in impenetrable dark¬ 
ness, the man of genius throws a flood of light on it. 
Give this man a fact, an idea : others may attach no value 
to it; he sees in it a mine that contains precious ore in 
abundance. He sees a small point on the horizon, his 
magic glance makes it expand into magnificent dimen¬ 
sions, even as the aurora expands at the rise of the sun ! 
in the early morning he sees a dim ray of light, a short 
time passes and the firmament is adorned with glorious 
radiance and floods of light inundate the earth. 

§ 5 . DIFFICULTY OF DISCOVERING TRUTH-THE CHESS¬ 

PLAYERS—Hannibal’s serpents. 

Whilst treating of this subject we will remind the reader 
of a truth to which little attention is sometimes paid. It 
is this: Many truths are very simple and intelligible to 
everybody, yet the discovery of them is reserved to men 
of genius. When such truths are pointed out to us we 
understand them in an instant, we wonder how they 
could have escaped our observation so long. Two clever 
chess-players engage in a game. One of them makes a 
movement apparently of no consequence; he abandons 
a piece which he could easily defend, and strengthens 
himself at a point where he is not attacked. What folly, 
exclaims the bystanders, he is surely gone ! The player 






DIFFICULTY OF DISCOVERING TRUTH. 151 

takes no notice of their chat and continues as before, aim¬ 
ing at a point which only he perceives. He who seemed 
to be distracted and to be losing his time and pieces, 
makes a sudden flank movement and exclaims, with a 
sort of malignant joy : The game is mine! It is his, 
say they all. How strange that we did not perceive his 
trick ; it was so simple ! He only abandoned one point* 
in order to open a way for himself in the other place ; he 
strengthened that other point, in order to close the way 
against his adversary. Could we not have seen that be¬ 
fore ! 

The Turkish army was before the walls of Vienna. 
Whilst the Austrian officers were studying their plans of 
attack, Sobieski arrived with his reinforcements. He casts 
a glance at the enemy and exclaims: He is lost! His 
position is badly taken. On the following day he makes 
the attack. The Turks are routed, Vienna is safe. After 
Sobieski had achieved this brilliant victory, Austrian offi¬ 
cers were probably heard tosay : What a capital mistake 
those stupid Turks made in selecting that position ! How 
easy was not the victory! But it was only Sobieski that 
conceived the supcessful plan of attack ! 

Mathematicians knew the properties of arithmetical and 
geometrical /progressions ; they knew that the exponent 
of 1 is o ; tnat of 10 1 ; that of 100 2, and so on succes¬ 
sively; they likewise knew that the exponent of the num¬ 
bers between 1 and 10 is a fraction. But no one per¬ 
ceived the immense utility of thefee exponents. Napier 
saw it and gave to the world his tables of logarithms. 
Mathematicians said the thing was very simple ; that any¬ 
body might have discovered it. What is more simple than 


152 


CRITERION. 


our system of numbers ? Yet neither the Greeks nor the 
Romans were acquainted with it. 

Can there be a phenomenon more simple than the ten¬ 
dency of fluids to rise to their own level ? Do we not 
observe it daily ? Does it not seem that this should at 
once suggest the idea of aqueducts ? Yet it was at a late 
period in history that men turned their thoughts to a sub¬ 
ject of such vast importance. Two artisans of modest 
abilities are embarrassed by a work they are trying to do ; 
they reflect on it, consult together, make experiments, 
but without success. They finally have recourse to an 
artisan of renown ; he solves the difficulty in a moment, 
and they are surprised that they failed to see a thing so 
very simple. 

Hannibal is on the eve of a naval engagement. Sol¬ 
diers, in obedience to his orders, bring on board a num¬ 
ber of well-closed earthen vessels, the contents of which 
are known to only a few of Hannibal’s men. The bat¬ 
tle begins. Hannibal orders his men to throw those 
earthen vessels among the hostile troops. These are 
greatly amused at the novelty of the warfare. A short 
time passes and first one man and then a second and a 
third and a fourth exclaim in terror that they have been 
bitten ; their vessels swarm with poisonous serpents. Con¬ 
sternation and confusion reign supreme among Hanni¬ 
bal’s enemies. He has conquered. Any one might have 
known that vessels could be filled with serpents and 
thrown on the enemy's ships, but the thought of doing 
it occurred only to the astute Carthagenian. It is proba¬ 
ble that Hannibal did not reflect much on this expedient 
before he adopted it; it may be that in conversation ser¬ 
pents were accidentally mentioned, and the idea struck him 


RULES FOR MEDITATING. 


53 


that they might render him some service. What do ex¬ 
amples like these tell us ? Th ey tell us that ge nius often 
consists in finding out relations between different things, 
to which nobody has paid an y atte ntion. It is exceedingly 
easy to understand these relations when once our attention 
is drawn to them ; in fact, when they are brought to our 
notice we are surprised that we had not thought of them 
before. The great difficulty lies in first perceiving them. 
Hence, when we speak of these happy discoveries in or¬ 
dinary conversation we say that the thought struck us ; 
that it occurred to us ; that we were inspired to do this. 
These expressions indicate that the discovery was not 
the fruit of reasoning, but of instantaneous inspiration. 

§ 6. RULES FOR MEDITATING. 

It follows, as a consequence, from what has been said, 
that we must not make forced efforts of the mind, but 
rather leave the mind perfect liberty of action, if we would 
meditate properly. You meditate on a subject and seem 
to learn nothing ; you concentrate your whole attention 
on it, and it seems to be to no purpose ; it matters not, 
be not discouraged ! leave the mind free to act; it is 
only trying to discover a thread which it may follow up, 
and its efforts are not useless. A man holds a mysteri¬ 
ously-closed box in his hand, he taxes his ingenuity to 
see whether he will be able to open it; he looks at it for 
a while, examines its various parts, presses it with his 
finger and says : I have found it out, it is open. Thus 
the mind acts when it meditates. 

§ 7. NATURE OF GIFTED INTELLECTS-A REMARKABLE DOC¬ 

TRINE OF ST. THOMAS OF AQUIN. 

Why do not certain truths that are in themselves so 





54 


CRITERION. 


very simple occur to everybody ? Why must we regard 
those as extraordinary minds who have merely discovered 
truths which everybody might have known? You might 
as well beg God to reveal to you the secrets of His pro¬ 
vidence, and to tell you the reason why He has endowed 
some minds with brilliant abilities, which He has not 
given to others. 

St. Thomas of Aquin treats this subject remarkably 
well. He says that the faculty of reasoning proves the 
weakness of the human mind; reason, he asserts, was 
given to us that it might aid our intelligence ; hence, ac¬ 
cording to St. Thomas, angels do not reason on things, 
but simply understand them. The number of ideas 
which a being has, is proportionate to the power of its 
intelligence. The Supreme intelligence sees all things in 
one idea, and the more perfectly the created intelligence 
imitates the uncreated intelligence, the smaller is the 
number of its ideas. The one, simple, infinite idea of 
God contains all things, and our ideas are more or less 
universal, in proportion as they resemble the divine idea. 
How sublime is not this doctrine ! It expresses whole 
volumes and shows a profound knowledge of the human 
mind. We may make countless applications of it. Great 
minds are not such, because they have a great number of 
ideas ; what distinguishes them from other minds is the 
fact that in a few vast, universal ideas, they see the world 
and all it contains. Some birds never soar high above 
the earth ; they may make long flights without ever leav¬ 
ing the narrow windings of valleys; the eagle, on the 
contrary, majestically soars on high, rests on the summit 
of the lofty Alps and looks down on hills and valleys and 


NECESSITY OF STUDY. 


155 


the currents of streams, sees vast plains with their popu¬ 
lous cities, fertile fields, verdant groves and mighty forests. 

Every question has a leading point to which all others 
are subordinate. On it the man of genius fixes his atten¬ 
tion, for^kl it he finds the key for the solution of the ques¬ 
tion. t^The greater number of men may not be able to 
detect this point at a glance, but they can at least make 
efforts to detect it by degrees. They will thus save time 
and arrive at happy results. Sharp observation would 
show us that every question and every science has one or 
more capital points, which are the axis around which the 
others revolve. If these points are clearly understood, the 
others will be plain and easy ; if they are understood only 
partially, our knowledge of our subject will be imperfect, 
our ideas will lack that unity which gives them perfection. 
The human mind is naturally weak ; objects should there¬ 
fore be presented to it in the simplest manner possible, 
they should be stripped of all superfluous appendages. 
If an object has various parts that demand attention, they 
should be classified under a few heads. The labor of 
study is thus diminished, the mind sees with greater clear¬ 
ness and precision, and truth is more deeply impressed on 
the memory, and therefore more easily retained. 

§ 8. NECESSITY OF STUDY. 

Are we to infer from what has been said on intuitive 
perception,that study is unnecessary, and that we should 
abandon ourselves to a sort of intellectual quietism ? No, 
certainly. Exercise is indispensably necessary for the de- 
velopement of every one of our faculties. In the intel¬ 
lectual as in the physical world, the faculty that is not ex- 


CRITERION. 


156 

ercised, grows languid and loses all energy. Even the 
most privileged minds attained the herculean strength that 
distinguished them, only after long and vigorous intellec¬ 
tual efforts. Inspiration is not given to the slothful man. 
The mind must be impregnated with fertile ideas before 
inspiration comes to its aid. Intuition, intellectual vision, 
is acquired by long looking on. A skillful artist detects 
at a glance, the beauties of a painting; but he has for 
years been in the habit of studying perfect models. Mu¬ 
sic would not have such charms for us, if we had never 
heard other than noisy, discordant sounds. 


Chapter XVII. 

INSTRUCTION. 

§ I. THE TWOFOLD OBJECT OF INSTRUCTION.-PROFESSORS. 

Dialecticians generally distinguish between the method 
of instruction and the method of invention. I shall make 
some remarks on each. 

Instruction has two objects : 1st. To teach pupils the 
elements of science. 2d. To develop their talents so, 
that on leaving school, they may be able to make progress 
in the profession which they embrace, proportioned to 
their natural abilities. Some may imagine that these two 
objects are identical, but it is not so. The first object may 
be attained by any professor who possesses an ordinarily 
fair knowledge of the principles of science ; the second 
requires more than mere ordinary abilities. To attain 



INSTRUCTION. 


157 


the first object, it is sufficient to know the concatenation 
of facts and propositions, which, as a whole, form the 
body of a science ; to attain the second, it is necessary to 
know how this chain, which reaches from one extreme to 
the other, was made. The first object can be attained 
by men who know books ; the second can be attained by 
those only who are acquainted with things. I will even 
add, that a man of superficial acquirements may often be 
more able to teach the first principles of a science than a 
man whose knowledge is more profound. A man of pro¬ 
found learning is apt to discourse on matters which sur¬ 
pass the comprehension of simple and undeveloped minds, 
and thus, instead of enlightening, he may confuse the 
minds of his pupils. The end we aim at in explaining 
the first elements of a science is to render their terms in¬ 
telligible, to give a plain exposition of the propositions 
that lie at the bottom of the science, and to show the con¬ 
nection that exists betwen its fundamental principles and 
the conclusions that flow from them. 

But if we propose to ourselves a higher aim ; if we con¬ 
sider that the minds of pupils are not simply boards on 
which we have to write a few characters that will remain 
there unchanged forever, but a fertile soil on which we have 
to scatter precious seed, then we must make greater ef¬ 
forts ; we must submit to fatigue that is more difficult. 
To unite clearness with depth, simplicity with intricate 
combinations, to point out to the scholar smooth and easy 
paths, and yet to make him see the serious obstacles that 
stand in the way of scientific progress; to inspire him 
with lively enthusiasm, to make him feel conscious of his 
own strength, and yet to guard him effectually against 
the danger of presumption, this is the work of a professor 


i 5 8 


CRITERION. 


that thoroughly understands his business; of a professor 
that knows that his pupils must not merely gather in 
the fruits yielded by the fields of others, but that they 
themselves have a field of their own, that is able to yield 
fruit in abundance. 

§ 2. TALENTS THAT ARE HIDDEN FROM OTHERS AND FROM 
OURSELVES. 

How small is the number of professors who are thus 
gifted ! But how could their number be great, since 
so miserably little is done to advance the art of teaching ! 
What efforts are there ever made to inspire men of talent 
with a love for the profession of teaching, or to encourage 
them to continue in it, when they have begun to devote 
themselves to it ? The professor’s chair is indeed sought 
for, but it is sought for because it is supposed that it 
opens the way to future advancement in other spheres. 
How few, moreover, are the professors who devote all 
their skill to the work of teaching? On how many 
other objects do they not bestow their attention ? What 
is the result ? It is naturally this, that they do superficial¬ 
ly, and, as it were, for the sake of relieving their minds 
for a few moments from more important cares, the work 
that demands their best abilities, that ought to engage 
their whole attention and be the great work of their lives. 
Hence when we see a young man whose bright eyes and 
noble forehead give unmistakable evidence of superior ta¬ 
lents, we take no pains to make him aware of the powers he 
possesses, we do absolutely nothing to make him feel how 
far his strength could go. It is very certain that a youth 
may have excellent talents without being aware of it, even if 
those talents should be for the very studies in which he is 


INSTRUCTION. 


159 


engaged. It may happen very easily that the fire of genius 
will be concealed beneath the ashes during the entire 
course of one’s life, because no one takes the pains to stir 
it up. How often does the merest chance reveal to us 
physical forces, of whose existence we had not the remot¬ 
est suspicion ? If Hercules had never been practised in 
the use of any other weapon than a feeble reed, would 
he ever have wielded his heavy club ? 

§ 3. MEANS FOR DISCOVERING HIDDEN TALENTS-HOW THEY 

SHOULD BE APPRECIATED. 

A professor of mathematics, who explains the theory of 
conic sections, will give his pupils a sufficiently clear and 
exact idea of their curved lines, by making them see the 
equations that constitute their nature and by explaining 
the properties inherent in them. This enables the student 
to understand the first elements of the theory, but it does 
not call his intellectual forces into exercise ; it does not 
present to him anything that could develop his inventive 
talent. But if the student is told by the professor that 
the fundamental equation, although apparently only con¬ 
ventional, was, nevertheless, not established without a 
reason, he sees at once that the basis which he conceived 
to be solid acquires better support. Should he fail to 
discover the principle by which the curves are generated, 
it might be well to tell him their names and to give him 
to understand that the section parallel to the base of the 
cone is a circle. He will then naturally cut the cone with 
planes in different positions, and he will perceive at a 
glance that if the section is closed and not parallel to the 
base, there will result curves similar to the figures of the 
ellipse. Can he express the nature of these curves by 


i6o 


CRITERION. 


an equation ? Are there any known data in the case ? 
Do they bear any relation ta the properties of the cone 
and the parallel section ? Does the greater or lesser in¬ 
clination of the plane change the nature of the sections ? 
If you change the position of the planes so that the sec¬ 
tions will not be closed, what curves will result ? Is there 
• any similarity between them and the parabola or the hy¬ 
perbola ? These and similar questions will at once pre¬ 
sent themselves to the clever student, and if he possesses 
inventive talent he will draw lines within the cone, he 
will compare them with each other, he will conceive tri¬ 
angles, calculate their relations and make a thousand dif¬ 
ferent experiments in order to arrive at the desired equa¬ 
tion. Thus his knowledge will not- be confined to the 
mere elements of the theory, he will become an inventor. 
His talent has a wide field for exercise, and whilst at first 
there were many in the class whose progress was equal to 
his own, he now finds himself much in advance of his 
companions : they have hardly advanced a step, whilst he 
has already reached the terminus of his journey, or has, 
at least, advanced far towards it. He then displays his 
strength and becomes aware of it himself; it becomes evi¬ 
dent that he has more than ordinary abilities, and that in 
the course of time he may do much to advance the cause 
of science. 

A professor of natural law explains to his students the 
rights and duties of the father of a family, and the duties 
of children towards their parents by giving them the defi¬ 
nitions and proofs that are generally given in such cases. 
Thus far he has expounded the first principles of the sci¬ 
ence, but he has said nothing that can develop the phi¬ 
losophical genius of a specially privileged student, or that 


INSTRUCTION. 


161 


can enable this student to distinguish himself among his 
less talented companions The shrewd professor desires 
to know minutely the talents of each one of his students 
and he puts them to the test by proposing a few ques¬ 
tions : 

Do the sentiments of the heart tell us anything con¬ 
cerning the duties of which we speak ? Do the princi¬ 
ples which philosophy lays down harmonize with the in¬ 
spirations of nature ? Students of ordinary abilities will 
be able to answer these questions, for they know that 
parents naturally love their children, and children their 
parents, and that thus our duties are linked to our affec¬ 
tions. So far the students have all answered as correctly 
as might be expected of students of moderate abilities. 
But the professor continues to question : 

What do you think of children who misbehave them¬ 
selves towards their parents, and repay their love with in¬ 
gratitude ? 

They fail in a sacred duty, and do not obey the in¬ 
stincts of nature. 

But why do we so frequently see children who fail in 
their duties towards their parents, whilst the faults which 
parents commit in regard to their children, generally pro¬ 
ceed from excessive tenderness and love for them ? 

In this they act very wrongly, some one will answer. 

Men easily forget the benefits they have received, re¬ 
plies another; a third one will remark that as children 
advance in years, their occupations increase and cause 
them to forget the affection they owe their parents ; an¬ 
other will say that when children have grown up into 
manhood, they enter into new family relations, that new 
affections then spring up in their hearts and supplant 


CRITERION. 


162 

the affection they had entertained for their parents. In 
short, each student assigns a reason more or less solid and 
correct, but not entirely satisfactory. If among the stu¬ 
dents there is any one who is destined to attain celebrity 
in the course of time, propose the question to him to see 
whether or not he can give a more profound reason to 
explain the fact referred to. 

It is, indeed, only too true, he will tell you, that child¬ 
ren are often unmindful of the respect and love they owe 
their parents ; but it seems to me that the reason of this 
lies in the very nature of things. The more necessary 
the fulfilment of a duty is for the preservation and good 
order of beings, the stronger is the instinct which the 
Creator has given us to fulfil that duty. 

The ill behavior of children towards their parents does 
not very seriously interfere with the preservation of the 
world, but if parents should forget the care they ought to 
bestow on their children, society would necessarily go to 
destruction. Hence it happens that the love which even 
good children entertain for their parents is not as intense 
or as deep as is the love of parents for their children. 

The Creator could doubtless have given to children an 
affection as tender and as strong as is the affection of 
parents, but this was not necessary and therefore He did 
not give it. It may be observed, too, that there is no 
love on earth as strong as the love of a mother for her 
child ; the mother needs all the strength of this love to 
enable her to submit to the hardships which motherhood 
implies, and to induce her to bestow on the child all the 
tender care which its utter helplessness during the years 
of infancy requires. It follows, therefore, that if child¬ 
ren fail in their duties towards their parents, the fact is 


INSTRUCTION. 


103 


not to be ascribed solely to this : that they are worse than 
their parents. When the boy becomes a father and the 
girl a mother, they will have the same tender feelings to¬ 
wards their little ones, which their parents now exhibit 
for them. Filial love is naturally less intense than par¬ 
ental affection ; its influence on the heart is not so irre¬ 
sistible ; it grows languid more easily and cannot with¬ 
stand so many obstacles. Its influence on our general 
conduct is much smaller. 

The first answers that were given betray students of 
moderately fair abilities; this last answer shows you the 
young philosopher rising above his companions and sur¬ 
passing them immeasurably, even as the mighty oak ex¬ 
cels by its trunk and magnificent branches the little trees 
that stand around it in the forest. 

§ 4- NECESSITY OF ELEMENTARY STUDIES. 

Let it not be inferred from what I have said in the 
preceding paragraphs that I deem it unnecessary for young 
persons to go through a regular course of elementary stu¬ 
dies. How great soever their talents may be they must 
be content to submit to this mortification. Every great 
scholar has had to pass through this novitiate before he 
was initiated into the profounder secrets of science. We 
know what those men amount to, who have derived all 
their knowledge from dictionaries and cyclopedias. They 
pretend to be able to talk on every subject, whilst in 
truth they do not understand a single one well. Reason 
and experience prove that this method of studying only 
produces sham scholars. 

Ever}'’ science and profession has primary elements, 
terms and phrases peculiar to itself; we can learn them 


164 


CRITERION. 


only in elementary books. This reason alone would, 
independently of any other, prove conclusively that ele¬ 
mentary studies cannot be dispensed with. These prim¬ 
ary principles, terms and phrases must be accepted with 
reverence by those who enter the field of science. We 
cannot reasonably suppose that those who have in past 
ages attached so much importance to them were men 
who would willingly waste their time in studying ques¬ 
tions of no importance. If the beginner has no confi¬ 
dence in those who have gone before him, if he starts 
out with the idea that he will reform science or change 
it radically, it would be well for him to reflect that it is 
wise to strive to know what others have said on the mat¬ 
ter ; that it is presumption to pretend that he will be 
able to do all by his own strength ; that it is folly not to 
profit by the labors of others. The most clever machinist 
entered on his profession in some humble workshop, and 
though he displayed extraordinary abilities for the profes¬ 
sion, yet he was obliged to learn names and technical 
phrases and the manner of using his instruments, like 
every other beginner in the profession. In the course of 
time he may have replaced the instruments by others that 
were better suited to his purpose; he may have changed 
the forms, and even their names, but at the beginning he 
had to take things as he found them and to use them as 
he was taught to do. Only by means of reflection and 
experience was he enabled to see their defects and the 
improvements that could be made on them. 

The advice which is given to those that desire to study 
history is equally adapted to those that wish to appiy 
themselves to the study of any science whatever. Before 
you begin your study read a compendium. The words 


INSTRUCTION. 


165 

addressed by Bossuet to the Dauphin, in his introduction 
to the discourse on universal history, may well be cited 
here. He has explained the necessity of studying history 
first in a compendium, in order to avoid confusion, and 
to save time and labor. He then continues : “ History 
studied thus in its general outline bears the same relation 
to each country and people which a general map of the 
world bears to particular maps. On particular maps you 
see minutely what a kingdom or a province is in itself; 
on a general map you see the precise position which these 
particular parts occupy in the world in general; you see 
what place Paris or the Isle of France holds in the king¬ 
dom, what place the kingdom holds in Europe, and what 
position Europe occupies in the world.” The happy 
comparison that is here drawn between a map of the 
world and particular geographical maps can be equally 
well applied to every branch of knowledge. In every 
branch of knowledge there is a whole, of which we must 
have a general idea, if we would understand its particu¬ 
lar parts and avoid confusion in joining them together. 
It is true that the ideas that we acquire by means of this 
method of studying, are almost always incomplete, im¬ 
perfect and not very exact; sometimes they may even be 
false; but these inconveniences are not nearly so great as 
those that result from the attempt to study a science with¬ 
out reflection, without method, without a certain amount 
of elementary preparation. 

Elementary works, it will perhaps be said, are at most 
only skeletons. This is very true, yet such as they are 
they save much labor and time. When you find the 
skeleton already formed it is easy for you to cover it with 
nerves, muscles and flesh, and*to give it motion and life. 


1 66 


CRITERION. 


A clever scholar will easily detect the vast difference 
that exists between a man who has studied a science me¬ 
thodically, beginning with the first elements, and another 
who has studied it, as it were, by flights, and drawn his. 
knowledge from dictionaries and cyclopedias. The first 
will distinguish himself by precision of ideas and propriety 
of language; the other may make an ostentatious show 
of varied and select knowledge, but at the first shock that 
he encounters his scientific structure falls to the ground, 
and he makes a ridiculous display of his vanity and 
learned ignorance. 


Chapter XVIII. 

ON INVENTION. 

§ I. WHAT THEY HAVE TO DO WHO POSSESS NO CREATIVE 
TALENT. 

I believe that I have said enough about the methods 
to be followed in teaching and learning; I will now 
speak on the method of invention. 

When a man has acquired the first elements of a sci¬ 
ence and is sufficiently advanced in years to engage in 
more extensive and profound studies, he will find himself 
entering upon roads which are not generally frequented. 
If nature has endowed him with original talent it will 
not be very difficult for him to see his way before him ; 
but if nature has even been less liberal toward him he will 
yet be able to add considerably to his stock of elementary 



ON INVENTION. 


167 

knowledge. He will not apply himself to the study of 
any science on which classical scholars have not written, 
and from their works he can derive very great assistance. 
Nor will it be necessary for him to follow these writers 
blindly in everything : he will occasionally be at liberty 
to think for himself, to maintain his own views. The 
discipline that reigns in the camp of letters and science 
is not so very rigorous. The soldier may sometimes ex¬ 
press his own views to his superiors. 

§ 2. SCIENTIFIC AUTHORITY. 

The number of those men who are fit to be the leaders, 
and, as it were, the standard bearers of others, is very 
small. It is easier to follow the leadership of a general 
of acknowledged ability, than to pretend to be leaders 
ourselves and to be the chiefs of petty bands of guerillas. 

Let it not be supposed that I am a blind admirer of au¬ 
thority in matters purely scientific ; that I am not appears 
sufficiently from the tenor of this book. I simply wish to 
draw the attention of the reader to a law, to which most 
minds must be content to submit. The ivy twines around 
the tree and shoots up into the air ; without this support, 
it could not rise from the ground ; it would be trampled 
upon by the passers-by. The observation I have made, 
changes nothing in the order of realities ; I have, in truth, 
rather stated a fact than given an advice. Yes, I have 
stated a fact; say what you will about man’s independence, 
it will yet be clearer than daylight, that no such indepen¬ 
dence exists in reality. All countries and ages bear wit¬ 
ness to this fact; it cannot be destroyed, for it is grounded 
in the very nature of man. The weak man feels the su¬ 
periority of the strong man, and humbles himself in his 


CRITERION. 


168 

presence ; genius is not the patrimony of the human race 
at large, it is a privilege granted to few, and tney that 
have received it,will naturally possess an ascendency over 
those that have been less fortunate. It has been observed 
with much truth, that the masses have a tendency to des¬ 
potism ; feeling their inability to govern themselves, they 
naturally look out for some one to rule over them. What 
happens in warfare and in political life, happens likewise 
in the sciences. The majority of those who apply them¬ 
selves to scientific pursuits belong to the masses ; hence 
they group around those who know somewhat more than 
they, and are able to speak on matters more expertly. 
The enthusiasm is caught even by the wiser of the masses, 
and they, too, join in the general outbursts of applause, 
and exclaim : Well said—well said—bravo ! You know 
more than we do, you shall be our leader. 

§ 3. HOW SCIENTIFIC AUTHORITY HAS BEEN MODIFIED IN OUR 
TIMES. 

It might be supposed, that in proportion as knowledge 
is diffused by means of the press, scientific authority would 
decrease. Such, however, is not the fact; this authority 
does not decrease, it is only somewhat modified. When 
the schools that took the lead in scientific movements, 
were few, the minds of men marched on like well-discip¬ 
lined armies ; they could not easily be mistaken about their 
leaders, as they were so few. Nowit happens otherwise. 
The leaders and the schools have become more numerous, 
discipline has become relaxed, the soldiers pass from one 
camp to another, some advance a little, others remain in 
the rear, others again separate from the rest and engage 
in skirmishes,without any orders from their commanders. 


ON INVENTION. 


169 


Great armies seem to exist no more, every man seems to 
march as he chooses himself. Yet be not deceived, for 
notwithstanding these disorders the armies exist, and every 
man knows to which one he belongs. If he deserts one 
corps, he passes over to another, and if he finds himself 
reduced to straits he will join the principal corps, which 
he knows is able to cover the retreat. Yet a closer exami¬ 
nation of facts would show that, in reality the leaders 
are not more numerous now-a-days than they were former¬ 
ly. If we would draw a correct picture of the classifica¬ 
tions of sciences, we would discover that the number of 
standard bearers is very small, and that now, as ever, the 
masses walk in the traces which these few men have left 
behind them. 

On the stage and in romance there are very few nota¬ 
bilities, and the works of the few are reproduced so often 
as almost to cause disgust. In politics—in philosophy— 
in history—we constantly meet the names of a few bright 
geniuses, whose opinions and language are constantly re¬ 
ferred to and adopted. Are not the philosophical schools 
of independent Germany as different from each other as 
were those of St. Thomas of Aquin, Scotus and Suarez ? 
What are the hosts of university philosophers of France, 
if not humble followers of Cousin r And what was Cou¬ 
sin in his turn if not a disciple of Hegel and Schelling ? 
Does not his philosophy, which some wish to introduce 
among us, begin in a tone of magisterial authority? Does 
he not demand our respect and deference as much as the 
minister of the Gospel would when he addresses an audi¬ 
ence of ignorant savages ? Those who pretend to teach 
us the philosophy of history" simply treat us to extracts 
from Guizot and a few other writers. Do not those who 


I/O 


CRITERION. 


declaim on the great principles of legislation frequently 
draw from Beccaria and Filangieri ? Do utilitarians tell 
us anything that they have not read in Bentham ? And 
do not those who have written on Constitutional Law con¬ 
stantly draw from Benjamin Constant ? 

Let us, then, acknowledge a fact that is so very clear. 
Let us not imagine that we shall ever be able to destroy 
an instinct that is stronger than we are ourselves. But 
whilst we acknowledge the fact, let us be on our guard as 
much as possible, lest it should produce evil effects on 
us. If, through weakeness of intellect, we are forced to 
avail ourselves of the knowledge of others, let us not do 
it with ignoble submission ; let us not renounce the right 
of examining matters for ourselves. Our enthusiasm for 
any man must never go so far as to induce us to accept 
his sayings as infallible oracles. We must not attribute 
to creatures what belongs to God alone. 

§ 4 . THE TALENT OF INVENTION-THE CAREER OF GENIUS. 

If the intellect is able to be its own guide ; if, in ex¬ 
amining the works of great writers, it feels that it is able 
to imitate them, that it is not among them like a pigmy 
among giants, but like one of their equals, then the me¬ 
thod of invention is eminently suited to it. An intellect 
such as this ought not to confine itself to the knowledge 
of books, it ought to aim at the knowledge of things. 
Instead of being content to walk in the beaten track, it 
should rather make efforts to find out new paths that will 
lead to the discovery of new and more important secrets. 
It should admit no idea without analyzing it; it should 
closely examine every argument and not submit to any 
rule which it has not put to the test. Let it form its own 


THE INTELLECT. 


171 

science—science that consists not in a mere recollection 
of what has been read, but is the result of close obser¬ 
vation and profound reflection. What rules must a man 
who is thus gifted follow ? The same which we have laid 
down already for every man who desires to think correctly. 
It would be useless, even were it possible, to enter here 
into minute details. It would be as absurd to attempt 
to prescribe to real genius the path which it must pursue, 
as it would be to attempt to describe an animated physi¬ 
ognomy by a few gestures mechanically made. When 
you see the man of genius throwing himself like a giant 
into his magnificent career, then do not distract his at¬ 
tention by idle words or fruitless advice ; do not retard 
his progress by prescribing for him rules to be observed. 
Say to him merely: “Bright image of the Divinity, go 
and fulfill the glorious destiny marked out for you by 
your Creator ! Do not forget your origin, do not forget 
your end; you unfold your wings to soar on high, but 
you know not where you will land ; raise your eyes to 
Heaven and ask your Maker to direct you in your course. 
He will reveal to you His will, His adorable will—do it. 
There lies vour greatness, there your immortal glory. ” 


Chapter XIX. 

THE INTELLECT, THE HEART AND THE IMAGI¬ 
NATION. 

§ I. DISCRETION TO BE OBSERVED IN THE USE OF THE FA¬ 
CULTIES OF OUR SOUL-QUEEN DIDO-ALEXANDER. 

HAVE said (chapt. 12,) that in order to discover the 
truth in certain matters, we should call to our aid the 



172 


CRITERION. 


combined forces of all the faculties of our soul, and I 
mentioned sentiment as one of these faculties. I will 
now add that, although this is necessary when there is 
question of such truths as are by their nature related to 
sentiment, as, for example, all truths related to the beau¬ 
tiful, the tender, the melancholy or the sublime ; yet it 
is not so, when the truth belongs to an order that stands 
in no relation to the faculty of feeling. 

If I wish to appreciate the whole merit of Virgil’s epi¬ 
sode of Dido, I should not reason very sharply on it, but 
rather allow free scope to my imagination and feelings. 
But if I propose to judge of the character of the Queen 
of Carthage from a moral stand-point, I must divest my¬ 
self of all sentimentality ; reason alone, guided by the 
principles of eternal justice, must decide now. I read 
Quintus Curtius; I admire the Macedonian hero as he 
boldly throws his army across the Granicus, conquers 
at Arbela, pursues and defeats Darius, and subjects the 
East to his dominion. There is grandeur in all these 
achievements ; there are traits here which we cannot duly 
appreciate, if we shut our hearts to every sentimental in¬ 
stinct. The magnificent narration contained in the first 
book of the Machabees, can never be duly appreciated by 
him who merely analyzes sharply the facts it contains ; 
“Now it came to pass, after that Alexander, the son of 
Philip the Mecedonian, who first reigned in Greece, com¬ 
ing out of the land of Cethim, had overthrown Darius, 
king of the Persians and Medes ; he fought many battles 
and took the strongholds of all, and slew the kings of 
the earth ; and he went through, even to the ends of the 
earth and took the spoils of many nations; and “the 
earth was silent before him.” As you read these last 


THE INTELLECT. 


173 


words, the book drops out of your hands, you are struck 
with indescribable surprise, “ the earth silent before one 
man !” If you have a lively sense of the force of this ex¬ 
pression, you have the grandest idea you can possibly 
form of the victorious hero. But if you stifle your sen¬ 
timents and reason and cavil, you will understand simply 
nothing. You must then forget your philosophy, be 
simply man, give free scope to your imagination and to 
your heart, and simply look at the son of Philip as he 
goes forth from the land of Cethim, marches with gigan¬ 
tic strides to the ends of the earth, and contemplate the ter¬ 
rified world which is “silent before him.” But if you 
propose to examine into the utility and the justice of 
these magnificent conquests, clip the wings of your im¬ 
agination, repress your feelings of enthusiastic admiration, 
forget the youthful monarch who moves among his vali¬ 
ent warriors like the Jupiter of the fables among the 
gods, and consider simply the eternal laws of reason and 
the interests of humanity. If, in conducting this exam¬ 
ination, you allow your imagination and your heart to 
control you, you will be led astray ; the brilliant aureola 
which encircles the brow of the conqueror will dazzle 
your vision ; you will not have the courage to condemn 
him, but will be inclined to be indulgent to so much 
genius and heroism. You will forgive all the wrong he 
has done when you see him at the height of his glory, at 
the age of thirty three, laying himself down on his couch 
to die. “And after all those things he fell down upon 
his bed and knew that he should die. I. Mach, chapt. 1. 


174 CRITERION. 

§ 2. INFLUENCE OF THE HEART ON THE MIND-CAUSES 

AND EFFECTS. 

That our passions have a very great influence on our 
conduct is a truth with which we are all acquainted ; it 
is not necessary to prove it, for daily experience shows it, 
and it is admitted by all. But sufficient attention has 
not been bestowed on the influence which passions have 
on the intellect, even when there is question of truths 
that have no relation to our actions. Yet this is proba¬ 
bly one of the most important problems to be solved by 
the art of thinking correctly. I shall therefore treat the 
subject at some length. 

If our soul were endowed with intelligence only; if 
she were able to contemplate objects without being af¬ 
fected by them, she would always see them in the same 
manner, provided that the objects themselves would un¬ 
dergo no change. If the eye remains ever the same, the 
distance the same, the point from which we view an ob¬ 
ject the same, and the quantity and the direction of light 
likewise the same, the impressions we receive must neces¬ 
sarily be ever the same. But if any one of these condi¬ 
tions is changed the consequent impression will be changed 
likewise. The object will appear greater or smaller, the 
coloring will be more or less vivid or entirely different, 
its figure will suffer notable modifications. The moon 
retains always the same figure, but its phases change con¬ 
stantly ; a huge irregularly-formed rock, seen from a 
distance, often resembles the cupola of a majestic edifice ; 
a monument which, when closely inspected, is a master¬ 
piece of art, will often, when seen from afar, seem to be 
merely an irregular, detached mass of rock which chance 
has thrown on the side of a hill. 


THE INTELLECT. 


175 


The same happens in regard to our intellect: objects 
may frequently be the same they were formerly, yet it will 
happen that not only different persons, but the very same 
person, form opinions about them that differ from the 
opinions they had formed of them at another time ; nor 
is it necessary that a long space of time should intervene 
before our judgment about them is thus changed The 
interval of a moment may suffice to cause this change ; 
we find ourselves in a different position, a veil has been 
withdrawn and all is changed ; form and color are no 
longer the same ; it would seem that the object has been 
touched by a magic wand. 

What is the cause of this ? It is the inconstancy of our 
hearts. Whilst the objects seem ta be no longer what 
they were before, it is in reality we that have undergone a 
change. A man on board a ship imagines that the houses 
and hills at a distance are momentarily receding further 
from him, whilst in reality it is he himself that departs 
from them. I would observe here that this change is 
realized not only at times when our passions are violently 
agitated, and have, so to say, complete control over our 
reason ; it may happen even whilst we are apparently 
tranquil and calm. In this case the change is even more 
dangerous, as the causes that produce it are less percepti¬ 
ble. The passions of the human heart have been divided 
into various classes, but whether it be that all have not 
been included in the philosophical classification, or that 
each one of them includes in itself various others that 
may be regarded as its legitimate offspring, or as transfor¬ 
mations of itself, the fact is, that if we pay close attention 
to the variety and gradations of the sentiments that reside 
in the human breast, we will almost imagine that we be- 


;6 


CRITERION. 


hold the ever-varying illusions of a phantasmagoric vision. 
There are in every man’s life moments of calm and of 
tempest, sweetness and bitterness, suavity and asperity, 
valor and cowardice, admiration and contempt, joy and 
sadness, pride and humility, hope and despair, patience 
and anger, prostration and energy, generosity and avarice, 
forbearance and revenge, indulgence and severity, pleas¬ 
ure and disgust, cordiality and coldness, gravity and lev¬ 
ity, of ... . but where shall I end if I attempt to enu¬ 
merate the variety of affections which the human heart 
experiences in itself? The sea, lashed into fury by the 
hurricane, agitated by the zephyr, rippled by the breath 
of aurora, motionless under the pressure of the atmos¬ 
phere, gilded by the rays of the rising sun, pale in the 
silvery light of the moon, glistening in the beauty of the 
nocturnal heavens, glowing in the burning heat of mid¬ 
day, dark and opaque like the tomb, is not as change¬ 
able, as inconstant, as the heart of man. 

§ 3. EUGENE-ONE DAY’S LIFE. 

It was a beautiful morning in April ; Eugene had risen 
at an early hour, and having mechanically taken a small 
volume from a shelf of his library he, without opening 
it, went out to the balcony in front of his house to gaze 
on the magnificent landscape of the surrounding country. 
What a lovely aurora it was ! what a glorious beginning 
of a genial day ! Away in the far East appears the sun 
on the horizon, and clothing the lessening clouds that 
gently move on in the ether with his golden rays, gives 
them the most charming coloring ; on the world he sheds 
the shining day that, burnished, plays on rocks, and hills 
and towers, and the wandering streams. Earth brightens 


THE INTELLECT. 


1 77 


up at his coming, birds salute his approach in melodious 
tunes, the peasant goes to his field with a heart light and 
.glad, and sings of happiness and of love. Eugene gazes 
on the charming scene with indescribable pleasure; his 
tranquil, happy, peaceful soul, is easily touched by scenes 
so sweet and charming. He enjoys excellent health, 
possesses a large fortune, his family affairs are in excellent 
condition, his friends are never more happy than when 
they are able to give him pleasure. No violent passion 
agitates his bosom, his sleep during the night was placid 
and tranquil, and was interrupted only by the break of 
day; he is only awaiting the hour for resuming the or¬ 
dinary course of his agreeable occupations. 

At last he opens his book ; it is a romantic novel. A 
wretched man, whom the world has not understood, is 
disgusted with life ; he curses society, curses the human 
race, curses heaven and earth, the present, the past, the 
future ; he curses God, he curses himself. Tired of gaz¬ 
ing on a sun that has for him no pleasant smile, tired of a 
world that gives him only sorrow and anguish, weary of a 
miserable existence that weighs so heavily on his spirits 
and crushes his heart beneath its insupportable burden, 
he has resolved to rid himself of his misery by putting an 
end to his life. See him standing on the brink of the 
fatal precipice ! already the sad ‘ ‘ farewell” is written in 
his portfolio ; he turns his feverish head, his pallid coun¬ 
tenance, his bloodshot eyes, his distorted features, wildly 
around ; before accomplishing the fatal deed, he remains 
for a moment absorbed in gloomy silence, meditates on 
the destinies of man, on the cruel injustice of society. 
“This is exaggerated,” impatiently exclaims Eugene, 
“ there is indeed, much evil in the world, but not all that 


I 7 s 


CRITERION. 


is in the world is evil. Virtue is not yet banished from 
the face of the earth ; I myself know many persons whom 
I could not, without doing them gross injustice, set down 
as wicked. Injustice doubtless exists among men, but 
injustice forms not the rule of society ; in fact the great 
crimes that are committed, * are only monstrous excep¬ 
tions ; the greatest part of the deeds that are committed 
v against virtue, are committed through human weakness, 
rather than throTigh^rnalice; they llbHbajury to ourselves 
rather than to others; society need not be terrified by 
them, for indeed they rarely come to the knowledge of 
the public at all. Neither is it true that happiness is im¬ 
possible in this world; evils are indeed great, misfortunes 
numerous, but they do not all proceed from the injustice, 
or the heartless cruelty of man ; the cause of these evils 
lies more immediately in the very nature of things them¬ 
selves ; besides, they are neither as numerous nor as 
hideously black as they are here described. I do not 
know how these men look at things. They complain of 
everything; they blaspheme God, and curse human so¬ 
ciety, and when they raise their minds to the higher re¬ 
gions of philosophy, they see there only darkness and a 
desperate chaos ; when they return from these excursions, 
they find no other words to express their feeling but 
4 malediction’and ‘crime/ This is intolerable, it is as 
false in philosophy as it is disgusting in literature. ” Thus 
Eugene reasoned in his own mind and good naturedly 
he closed his book, banished from his mind these un¬ 
pleasant images, and allowed his soul to be once more 
transported by the contemplation of the charming scen¬ 
ery around him. 

Hours pass away; the time for commencing his daily 



THE INTELLECT. 


1/9 


labor arrives. At the very outset it seems that it will be 
a day of misfortunes ; everything goes wrong ; the curses 
of the suicide seem to have fallen on Eugene. Early in 
the morning a disagreeable atmosphere fills the house. 
N has passed a most wretched night; W left her bed in¬ 
disposed ; all in the house wear a gloomy countenance 
and seem as sour as unripe fruit. Eugene himself is some¬ 
what affected by the malignant atmosphere, still he re¬ 
tains something of the pleasing emotions experienced at 
the early dawn of day. 

The weather, too, has undergone a change; it will 
not be at all as pleasant a day as the early morning 
indicated ; heavy, dark clouds appear in the sky and 
threaten rain. Eugene goes to his work ; his umbrella 
is an insufficient protection against the rain that pours 
down in torrents. The way that leads to his place of 
business is narrow and dirty ; a coachman drives along 
with furious speed. Eugene is splashed with mud; he 
must retrace his steps and return home. He is angry; he 
does not utter the horrible blasphemies of the suicide, 
but the prayer which he says for the horses and their 
driver, will surely not do either a considerable amount 
of good. Life is, after all, not quite as pleasant as he 
fancied in the morning; yet it is tolerable. His philo¬ 
sophy darkens with the weather. However, the sun has 
not yet gone down in the West. The destinies of man 
are not indeed desperate, but the accidents of life weigh 
rather heavily on his spirits. After all, it would be better 
if family cares were not quite so serious, if the streets were 
kept cleaner, or, supposing that this cannot be done, 
coachmen, at least, might take the fact into consideration, 
whenever they drive past a foot passenger. It generally 


So 


CRITERION. 


happens that one misfortune follows in the footsteps of 
another. Eugene has forgotten the first misadventure of 
the day ; his thoughts are again set on business, and he 
goes to the house of a friend from whom he expects im¬ 
portant communications regarding a business transaction. 
Here he is received coolly; the friend tries to evade all 
conversation on the chief point in question ; pressing af¬ 
fairs, he pretends, will not allow him time to talk over 
the matter just now. Eugene takes leave, somewhat dis¬ 
pleased at the turn the affair has taken ; vague suspicions 
arise in his mind, he tortures his brains in order to dis¬ 
cover what it all can mean, when suddenly he meets an¬ 
other friend, who is able and willing to clear up the mys¬ 
tery Be on your guard, Eugene, says the friend, in very 
few words ; be on your guard, or you will fall a victim to 
the infamous perfidy of Mr. N. He thinks at once of 
the steps to be taken to prevent the impending misfor¬ 
tune. He goes to different friends to obtain information 
about the state of affairs. All sympathize with him in his 
misfortune, but all agree that it is now beyond remedy. 
The loss is heavy and irreparable, for the treacherous 
friend has carried out his plans so artfully that it is simply 
impossible for Eugene to do anything in the matter. It 
is impossible for him to institute legal proceedings, for 
the affair does not admit of it; it would be of no avail 
to reproach the man for his deceitful conduct, for that 
would not restore his lost fortune, and it would be equal¬ 
ly useless to revenge himself on him, for that might turn 
out even more disastrous to himself. All he can do, is 
to be resigned to his fate. Eugene returns to his home, 
retires into his private apartment and allows himself to 
be transported by the cruel pain of seeing his fairest hopes 


THE INTELLECT. 


181 


frustrated, his social position desperately changed, and 
all his brilliant prospects for the future irreparably ruined. 
On his table lies the volume he had read in the morning. 
The sight of it recalls to his mind the reflections he had 
made in reading it. Oh ! how miserably deceived you 
were, he exclaims, when you imagined that the infernal 
descriptions contained in that book were mere exaggera¬ 
tions ! It cannot be denied that that man was right. It 
is horrible, desperate, unpardonable, yet it is true. Man 
is a depraved monster, society a cruel stepmother, a 
heartless executioner who takes pleasure in insulting and 
tormenting his wretched victims, and scorns them at the 
very moment that he covers them with ignominy and 
shame, to which death itself would be preferable. There 
is no fidelity in friendship, no gratitude, no generosity, 
no true virtue on earth ; all is egotism, self-interest, false¬ 
hood, treachery ! Was life given to us for no other pur¬ 
pose but that it might make such cruel sport of us ! 
Where is the providence, where the justice of God ! 

Where.? Into such depths of despair has 

Eugene fallen; the agreeable and wise philosophy of the 
morning has given place to diabolical thoughts, to infer¬ 
nal inspirations. The world has undergone no change, 
everything follows its ordinary course ; and from the fact 
that an unforeseen misfortune has befallen Eugene, it 
does not at all follow that either man or society has 
changed for the worse during the course of the day. But 
Eugene is no more the man he was in the morning; his 
sentiments are changed, his heart is filled with a deadly 
venom that poisons his intellect; and his intellect, com¬ 
pletely under the control of the sentiments of bitter an¬ 
guish and despair, takes revenge on society at large, by 



182 


CRITERION. 


painting it in the most hideous colors. Let it not be 
supposed that Eugene acts in bad faith ; he sees things 
precisely as he expresses them ; he is as honest now in 
his convictions as he was when, in the morning, he drew 
such an encouraging picture of the virtue oft he human 
race. We left Eugene as he was about to answer his 

desperate “Where.?” It will probably not 

be unjust to presume that the answer would have been a 
horrible blasphemy, had he not been disturbed in his 
monologue by a gentleman who, relying on his title of 
friendship, took the liberty of entering Eugenes apart¬ 
ment without the formality of being announced. 

“Good day, my dear Eugene; I hear that you have 
been badly imposed on.” 

“Well, what can be done?” 

“ It is really too bad !” 

“Yes, but so goes the world . . . . ” 

“ But there is no time to be lost, we must remedy the 
misfortune ...” 

“ Remedy ? it is impossible !” 

“The remedy is very simple ...” 

“Iam surprised at your way of talking.” 

“All depends on ready money, your taking the first 
mail-coach and arriving at D before he will arrive there.” 

“Yes, but that is impossible in my present circum¬ 
stances ; the scoundrel knows that I have spent all my 
ready money in that accursed transaction ; he knows 
that I have none whatever at my disposal now ; he calcu¬ 
lated on this, and he knows how utterly impossible it 
would be for me to overtake him.” 

“ But suppose that the money was ready for you ?” 

“Let us not joke about the matter.” 



THE INTELLECT. 


183 

“ Listen, my dear Eugene. A few friends and my¬ 
self met together to discuss that affair, which you know. 
One of the company related the serious misfortune that 
had befallen you, and the disastrous consequences it must 
entail on your family. You can easily imagine what an 
impression the unpleasant news made on us. I requested 
leave of my friends to sever my connection with that pro¬ 
ject, that I might be free to place my own resources at 
your disposal. All instantly followed my example, and 
declared their readiness to run the risk of postponing their 
operations till you come out triumphantly from this diffi¬ 
culty. ” 

‘ * I cannot agree to it. ” 

“ But you must 1” 

“But if these gentlemen, whom Ido not even know 
)} 

“This was all foreseen. Get ready, take the first 
stage. In this portfolio you will find the money you need. 
Farewell, my dear Eugene.” 

The portfolio was placed on the table, beside the fatal 
book. Eugene is ashamed of having so hastily hurled 
his anathemas at society. The hour for the departure of 
the stage leaves him no time to philosophize, but he feels 
that his philosophy has assumed a less desperate aspect. 
On the following morning the sun will arise more glori¬ 
ously than to-day ; the birds will sing as merrily as ever ; 
the peasant will go forth to his work, and Eugene will 
see things as he saw them before his unpleasant adven¬ 
tures. Within twenty-four hours, nothing has changed in 
nature or society, but the philosophy of Eugene has 
traversed an immense space, returning, like the planet, 
to the point from which it had started. 


184 


CRITERION. 


§ 4. DON MARCELLINO AND HIS POLITICAL CHANGES. 

Don Marcellino had just left an election caucus, in 
which party spirit had been very violent. Even muscular 
strength had been called into requisition ; fists and canes 
were freely used; blows were dealt out with greatest 
liberality ; all the efforts of the president to calm those 
excited spirits and to restore order, were useless and 
only added to the general confusion. Don Marcellino 
was not a man who lacked courage, but knowing that 
prudence is the better part of valor, he had withdrawn to 
his home. The recollection of the disagreeable event 
will not soon be erased from his memory ; it has made 
an impression on him, deep and painful ; it has given 
the death-blow to all the liberal views he has hitherto en¬ 
tertained. 

“ Gentlemen,” he says in tones of profoundest convic¬ 
tion, ‘‘this thing is absurd, it is a miserable farce, we 
have sunk into a state of barbarism ; only a strong arm 
and an iron hand can keep down those rebellious spirits. 

“Absolutism may have its inconveniences, but of all 
bad forms of governments it is the least bad. The the¬ 
ory of a representative government chosen by the en¬ 
lightened reason and free will of the governed, may be 
good enough in works on constitutional rights or in the 
columns of newspapers, but in reality it only promotes 
intrigues, immorality, impudence and audacity. There 
was a time when I too entertained such liberal views, but 
age and experience have made me see their absurdity, 
and I feel quite certain that a time will come when men 
will acknowledge the soundness of my present views. In 
consequence of the disturbances that have happened, the 


THE INTELLECT. 


185 

military are called out; they assume a threatening atti¬ 
tude ; the riot-act is read, martial law is declared, con¬ 
stitutional guarantees are suspended, the rioters become 
afraid and the city is restored to its usual tranquillity. 

Don Marcellino may, without danger of incurring sus¬ 
picion, resume his usual walks, for all is quiet in the 
city. Amid these pleasant distractions, he soon forgets 
the scenes of confusion which he had witnessed at the 
election of candidates for office. 

It happens that he must start off on a journey and 
needs a passport. He goes to the headquarters of the 
police, which he finds guarded by a strong force of troops ; 
he walks straight on towards the first door he sees. A 
powerful, stern looking grenadier orders him back. He 
goes to another door ; the sentinel shouts in a savage 
tone ; “off with that capouch \” He uncovers his head 
somewhat angrily and attempts to proceed, but the stern 
policeman is again in his way: “slowly, sir 1” he shouts, 
“wait for your turn !" At last he enters the bureau ; a 
thousand questions are put to him by the officer, who eyes 
him from head to foot as though he suspected him of hav¬ 
ing been concerned in the riot that took place a few days 
ago; finally he hands him his passport in no very civil 
manner, and without returning or noticing Don Marcel- 
lino's compliments, he turns to his other business. 

The poor devil leaves the bureau in disgust, but he 
does not reflect on the fact that the scenes he has just 
witnessed have modified his political views very consider¬ 
ably. At home he meets some friends ; the conversation 
turns on the event that has just transpired, and, passing 
on from one topic to another, they at last come to dis¬ 
cuss the respective merits of the different forms of gov- 


86 


CRITERION. 


ernmmt. Don Marcellino does no longer, as he did a 
few days ago, plead the cause of despotism. It is horri¬ 
ble, says one of the bystanders, I cannot even think of it, 
without detesting the base artifices of our rulers. Cer¬ 
tainly, replies Don Marcellino, Absolutism has its weak 
sides ; it is tru3 that it preserves peace among citizens by 
frightening them into silent submission ; but after all, I 
do not think that men are simply slaves, who should be 
governed by the rod alone. I cannot be in favor of a 
government which refuses to recognize man’s dignity and 
rights. 

It is easy to perceive that Marcellino, without knowing 
it, is thinking of the affair of the passport. The rude 
'‘back, sir,” of the grenadier, the savage “off with that 
capouch,” of the sentinel, the ruffianly conduct of the po¬ 
licemen and the incivility of the officer, have completely 
revolutionized his political opinions. 

Unfortunately for Marcellino, the police officer’s sus¬ 
picions grew stronger. Scarcely had Marcellino left the 
bureau, when he went to his superior officer to inform him 
that a man whom he strongly suspected of having been 
concerned in the late riot had just applied for, and ob¬ 
tained, a passport. Just as Marcellino is on the point 
of stepping into the stage-coach, he is arrested and led 
off to prison, where he is forced to remain for some days 
without even knowing the cause of his imprisonment. 
Nothing more is required to induce Marcellino to wish 
all despotic governments to the deuce. The rude, uncere¬ 
monious manner of his arrest, the discomforts of prison 
life, the tedious, offensive examination to which he is snb- 
jected, all this is more than sufficient to cure him of the 
slightly despotic tendencies which he has yet retained. 


THE INTELLECT. 


187 

He leaves his prison with his liberalism revived, with an 
ardent affection for constitutional government, a profound 
contempt for despotism, a deep aversion to military rule, 
and a sincere desire that personal safety should be pro¬ 
tected by constitutional guarantees. His political creed 
is completely formed. How long will he continue to 
profess it? After a year or two another election will take 
place, party excitement will run high, pistols and stilet¬ 
tos will be freely used, an excited populace will take up 
arms and cause horrible confusion and bloodshed. What 
will Don Marcellino think about liberal government ? 

§ 5. HOW ANSELM CHANGED HIS OPINIONS ON THE SUBJECT 
OF CAPITAL PUNISHMENT. 

Anselm is a diligent student of law. He has just read 
an eloquent speech against capital punishment. The ir¬ 
reparable injury done to the innocent man, whom the law 
may condemn to death ; the repulsive, shocking act of 
taking the life of a fellow-man, even when he is guilty ; 
the utter uselessness of the death penalty for the preven¬ 
tion of crime; in short, all that can work on the sensi¬ 
bilities of our nature is here depicted in vivid colors, and 
with consummate skill. The horrible examples cited to 
illustrate the correctness of these views are such as would 
move the stoutest heart. Anselm is deeply affected. He 
imagines that he meditates profoundly, but he only feels ; 
he thinks that he is a philosopher who reasons ably, whilst 
he is merely a man who is moved to compassion. He is 
convinced that the penalty of death is useless ; and this 
alone, abstracting even from its palpable injustice, ren¬ 
ders the infliction of it highly criminal. Society, thinks 
the young student, should reflect seriously on this point, 


CRITERION. 


188 

for it is a disgrace to our civilization to continue this hor¬ 
rible custom which we have inherited from our barbarous 
ancestors. Anselm’s convictions on this subject are clear 
and settled; social and humanitarian motives demand 
that the death penalty be abolished, and nothing can 
shake the solidity of these arguments. 

Our young philosopher finds himself one day in the 
company of an old magistrate—a man of solid learning 
and large experience. The old sage believes that the 
abolition of the death penalty is an illusion that can never 
be realized. He gives a lucid exposition of the princi¬ 
ples of justice which render it lawful to punish with 
death in certain cases ; he describes in eloquent language 
the fatal consequences that would flow from the abolition 
of this penalty ; he draws a lively picture of the utter de¬ 
pravity of so many men, whom no punishment less than 
death would deter from the commission of crime ; he in¬ 
sists on the obligation that rests on society of protecting 
the weak and the innocent from the aggressions of the 
lawless, and ends by relating several examples that ex¬ 
hibit the horrible tortures to which inhuman monsters 
have subjected their innocent, helpless victims. 

A change has already taken place in our young man’s 
interior; his soul is stirred up to indignation, he is filled 
with an ardent desire to see justice executed, no matter 
at what cost; in short, the opinions and sentiments of 1 
the old magistrate have taken complete possession of An¬ 
selm’s mind and heart. Elated at seeing himself able to 
master the sentiments of an unjust compassion, and to 
sacrifice the instincts of mere sentimentality on the altar 
of humanity, he imagines himself clothed in the gown of 
the judge and seated on the tribunal. It seems as if 


THE INTELLECT. 


89 


his heart would tell him : Yes, you, too, would be able 
to mete out justice; you, too, would be able to control 
your feelings; you, too, would be able, if need should 
be, to obey the voice of your conscience, and, with your 
hand on your heart, and your eyes turned to God, to de¬ 
clare that ‘ £ he who has thus deliberately and with malice 
aforethought trampled under foot God’s law and outraged 
society, shall be hung by the neck until he be dead. ” 

§ 6. SOME OBSERVATIONS CALCULATED TO PUT US ON OUR 
GUARD AGAINST THE EVIL INFLUENCES OF THE HEART. 

It is of the greatest importance to a sound thinker to 
know well how his opinions are affected and modified by 
any one passion that may domineer over him. If he 
knew this perfectly, he would not find it so very difficult 
to rise above the prejudices of the age, the influences of 
education or of personal interests. The want of this 
thorough knowledge renders it veiy difficult for us to act, 
or even to think, conformably to the eternal law, to realize 
what lies beyond the regions of this material world, and 
to postpone present interests to the interests of the future. 
It cannot be too well understood that whenever we form 
an opinion on any subject, or decide on a course of ac¬ 
tion, we are in a very great measure influenced by what 
we actually see with our eyes and touch with our hands. 
We walk in the light of present facts. 

If we would think correctly we must be habitually 
watchful over ourselves ; we must ever bear in mind the 
important truth that it is absolutely necessary for us to 
enter into ourselves frequently and to ask ourselves : Is 
my heart tranquil ? or is it agitated by any passion that 
may prevent me from seeing things as they are in re- 


190 


CRITERION. 


ality ? May there not lurk in my bosom some secret af¬ 
fection, which, without agitating me violently, may yet 
domineer over me by a sort of fascination of which I may 
not be aware ? May I not, in what I now think, judge, 
propose, or do, be influenced by the impressions of the 
moment, which disturb my mind and prevent me from 
seeing things as they really are? Did I think thus a 
few days, a few moments ago ? How soon shall I think 
otherwise ? If, a few moments hence, a pleasant or un¬ 
pleasant, a favorable or disagreeable event were to take 
place, would that not make me think differently ? A 
short time ago I thought otherwise ; what is it that has 
made me change my former opinions ? Have I reflected 
better on the subject? Have I received information 
which I did not possess before? Was it sound reason, 
or merely the desire of the moment that produced the 
change ? Now passion agitates my interior, affections 
domineer over me, and I think so and seem to myself to 
think wisely ; but if I suppose a change of circumstan¬ 
ces, or if I let a short interval of time elapse, how would 
I then look at the matter ! What would I do ? 

Let no one imagine that this mode of calling ourselves 
to an account is impracticable ; it can be done by every 
one of us without serious difficulty, and it will aid us, 
more than we probably believe, to guide our intellect and 
direct our conduct. Passion seldom obtains so complete 
a sway over us as to deprive us entirely of reason ; if this 
should happen, we would suffer from mental aberration, 
and it would be simply absurd to prescribe rules for per¬ 
sons in such a condition. Passions obscure the intellect 
and pervert the judgment, but they do this to a limited 
extent only ; they do not completely blind the one or the 


THE INTELLECT. 


191 

other. A certain light always shines in the interior of 
our souls ; it may grow dim, but it will never be entirely 
extinguished. It will shine more or less brightly, accord¬ 
ing as we are accustomed to watch over ourselves, and to 
examine closely the motives that influence us in our 
doings; it will guide us, if we know how to prudently 
doubt of ourselves, and if we feel thoroughly convinced 
that the momentary instincts of the heart are seldom the 
safest rule of conduct. 

§ 7. SUDDEN TRANSITION FROM FRIENDSHIP TO ENMITY. 

It is not necessary to enter into any lengthy disserta¬ 
tion to prove that we are often blinded by passion. We 
all know this to be the case. What we need is not a 
knowledge of the principle in the abstract, but a correct, 
practical knowledge of the effects which it produces on 
our minds. This knowledge can be obtained, but no 
man will ever obtain it unless he strives after it vigor¬ 
ously. The examples given already* prove this with suf¬ 
ficient clearness. However, the reader will pardon me 
for striving to explain the matter by one more example : 

We have a friend whose amiable qualities have charmed 
us ; we speak of him with enthusiasm whenever an occa¬ 
sion presents itself, and when the occasion is not offered 
to us, we seek it; for we love to praise one whom we 
respect and love, and who, we know, loves us dearly. 
This friend happens to deny us a favor; we have recom¬ 
mended a certain person to him and he seems to take no 
interest in him ; we visited him on a certain occasion and 
he received us rather coolly; we spoke to him, and his 
answers were rather abrupt or indifferent; in short, he 
gives us some real or imaginary cause of resentment. 


192 


CRITERION. 


From that moment our feelings towards our friend have 
been greatly changed, perhaps completely revolutionized. 
His talents are no longer as brilliant as they formerly 
were ; his will is no longer as upright, his character is not 
so agreeable, his heart not so generous, his company not 
so pleasant as formerly. In all his doings we find some¬ 
thing to correct; we praise him, but our praises end 
with a significant “but.” In short, we have been mis¬ 
taken in our man ; it will be fortunate for both parties 
concerned if we do not call him a monster, whom, one 
hour ago, we numbered among our dearest friends. Is 
it at all likely that our deception should have been so 
great ? No; but our former affection for our friend 
made us close our eyes to his faults, our present resent¬ 
ment makes us exaggerate them. Did we perhaps im¬ 
agine that he would, in no circumstances, deny the fa¬ 
vor we requested ? Did we think that, notwithstanding 
his amiable dispositions, he might yet have moments of 
ill-humor and forget his ordinary courtesy ? Surely we 
might have known this, and we did know it ; if any 
one had asked us about it we would have said : He is a 
man, as all others are, consequently he must be subject 
to the ordinary weaknesses of humanity, but this does not 
detract from his amiable qualities. Why, then, are we 
so bitter towards him now ? Why exaggerate his fail¬ 
ings so deplorably ? The reason is clear. We feel wound¬ 
ed, and it is no longer our reason that guides us, but it 
is our exasperated heart that perhaps thirsts for revenge, 
thirsts for revenge on one, for whom a moment ago, it 
would almost have given its very blood. 

Would you know whether or not your recently formed 


THE INTELLECT. 


193 


opinion about your friend is correct? You can easily 
discover it. Suppose that the unpleasant event did not 
happen to you personally, but to another person, with 
whom you are not acquainted : suppose the circumstances 
of the case to be precisely such as we have given them, 
would you draw the conclusion which you have drawn in 
your own case? You would not; you would, perhaps, 
admit that your friend did wrong; the next time you 
would meet him you would possibly speak to him about 
the affair. You would, with the liberty and sincerity of 
a friend, tell him that he acted imprudently; that,know¬ 
ing him as you thought you did, you would not have ex¬ 
pected this of him. but you would not withdraw from 
him your friendship. Whilst you would acknowledge that 
in some points he is not entirely free from the weaknesses 
of humanity, you would yet believe that he has many 
noble and estimable traits of character, which more than 
counterbalance his defects. Bear always in mind that 
man is by nature rather inclined to condemn than to ex¬ 
cuse ; remember that blindness, envy and hatred cause 
you to discover faults where there is not even the shadow 
of evil; do not forget that you do not see a man’s heart 
nor the motives that influence his actions; think, in 
fine, that a man’s conduct may be deserving of all praise, 
but if you allow yourself to be agitated and blinded by 
passion, you will possibly discover in it naught but in¬ 
justice, perfidy and ingratitude. How often would we 
not think more kindly of our fellow-man, if only we would 
imagine that his actions affected others and not ourselves, 
and if we would consider them when our interior is calm 
and not troubled by passion ? 


194 


CRITERION. 


§ 8. POLITICAL OPINIONS. 

Men who are willing to be of service to us, friends, 
are entrusted with the management of civil affairs. They 
do an act that is clearly against the laws of the country. 
What do we say about it? We say that “circumstances 
are more powerful than men that “rulers cannot al¬ 
ways observe the strict letter of the law that ‘ ‘ in certain 
cases acts apparently in conformity with the law, are very 
wrong we say that “ rulers as well as nations have an 
instinct of self-preservation, to which all else must yield ; 
that, in fine, necessity knows no law.” Do our friends 
acknowledge that they have set the law aside ? that they 
were driven to do so by the force of circumstances ? If 
they do, we praise them for it. Candor, we say, is one 
of the very best qualities a government can have ; a gov¬ 
ernment that tries to gain strength by deceiving the peo¬ 
ple, must necessarily fall. Or do our friends pretend 
that the law has not been violated ? Do they, by sophis¬ 
tical reasoning, explain the law in a sense which it evi¬ 
dently has not ? So much the better, say we, they have 
such respect for the law that they would not act in oppo¬ 
sition to it, even when circumstances would justify them 
in doing so. The law is sacred, it must be upheld. If 
government cannot in some cases observe it in all its ex¬ 
tent, it must, at least, preserve its forms intact. If it 
does seem to act somewhat arbitrarily, it at least abhors 
despotism, and respects the liberties of the people, and 
for this it surely deserves our thanks. 

Are the men in power our enemies ? How differently 
do we not then judge of their conduct ? The act they have 
committed proves an unwarranted assumption of power ; 


THE INTELLECT. 


95 


it is absurd to say that necessity compelled them to it ; 
the law is supreme, and no violation of it can ever be ex¬ 
cused. What will become of the country if the govern¬ 
ment can with impunity violate the law, when it judges 
it convenient to do so ? What is this but positive des¬ 
potism ? Do not speak of circumstances that could not 
be controlled, do not talk of necessity; the most despo¬ 
tic government will not set the laws of the land aside 
without pleading some cause or other in excuse. Does 
the government acknowledge that it has acted against the 
laws ? This is intolerable, we exclaim ; not content with 
bidding defiance to the laws, these men have the daring 
to insult us to our very face ; they do not even pretend 
to have had any pretext for acting as they have done ; it 
is the very height of impudence, despotism in its most re¬ 
volting form. What will become of us if our destinies 
will remain in the hands of such unscrupulous despots ! 
Or has the government attempted to shelter itself under 
the pretext that its action was not in reality, but only in 
appearance, against the law ? The worst form of despo¬ 
tism, we say at once, is that which is introduced in the 
name of law ; the government may throw the cloak of 
hyprocrisy over its actions, but it is yet true that its con¬ 
duct is criminal. When a government has, in difficult 
circumstances, set the law aside, and then attempts to 
excuse its acts, it seems to apologize to the public and to 
give guarantees that the offence shall not be repeated ; 
but when a government has clearly violated the law and 
yet pretends to have acted rightly, it only prostitutes the 
law, abuses the good faith of the people, and throws open 
the door to every disorder. When no respect is had for 
the spirit of the law, there is no act which may not be 


96 


CRITERION. 


defended by some law or other; you have only to take 
hold of an ambiguous expression or word, and you will 
be able to completely counteract the intention of the 
legislator. 

§ 9. THE DANGER OF EXTREME SENSITIVENESS-GREAT 

TALENTS-POETS. 

Some errors are so gross in their nature and so evi¬ 
dently the effect of passion that a man of calm judgment 
cannot be misled by them. But error sometimes pre¬ 
sents itself under very insinuating forms, and then it may 
easily attract us, if we are not greatly on our guard against 
the influences of passion. Even great minds are subject 
to the defect which we are about to censure. Men of 
great talents are often extremely sensitive; the impres¬ 
sions they receive are very vivid, they affect their opinions, 
and influence their whole train of thought. Endowed 
with great penetration, such men easily discover reasons 
in support of their own views, and they can state their 
reasons with such consummate skill as to draw you to 
their side almost in spite of yourself. This, doubtless, 
is the cause of the great volubility we sometimes observe 
in men of eminent talents. To-day they extol what to¬ 
morrow they ridicule ; to-day they lay down a proposi¬ 
tion as an unquestionable dogma, whilst to-morrow they 
will tell you that it is prejudice that causes you to de¬ 
fend it. 

Often you will find that in the very same book they 
contradict themselves most glaringly; they will lead you 
to conclusions which you would never have suspected to 
be reconcilable with principles which they have estab¬ 
lished. Do not suppose that these anomalies necessarily 


THE INTELLECT. 


197 


prove a want of sincerity on their part; they may assert 
contradictions and yet write under the influence of pro¬ 
found conviction ; a lively, exaggerated sentiment has 
gained the mastery over them; it shapes their ideas, 
though they have not the remotest suspicion that such is 
the case. .Thus the intellect is enslaved by the heart, 
yet it is a clever, ingenious slave, that gratifies the caprices 
of his master by keeping him pleasantly engaged. 

Poets, real poets, that is, men whom God has endowed 
with sublimity of thought, a lively imagination, and keen 
sentimentality, are especially liable to be influenced by 
the impressions of the moment. I do not deny them 
the power of rising to the highest regions of thought, I 
admit that they can control the flight of their imagina¬ 
tion and can judge of matters with calm discernment; 
but to do this they must acquire more methodical habits 
of thought, and more stability of character than men gen¬ 
erally possess. 

§ IO. THE POET AND THE CLOISTER. 

In a profound solitude a poet is disturbed in his medi¬ 
tations by the sound of a bell. His soul is a stranger to 
faith, but he is not insensible to the inspirations of reli¬ 
gion. The deep, solemn tones of the bell, breaking 
forth on the dead silence of the forest, appeal to his soul 
and awaken in his heart feelings of grave and pleasing 
melancholy. He soon discovers a solitary mansion, in 
which innocence has sought shelter against the snares of 
a wicked world, or penitent spirits try to atone for an ill- 
spent life. Prompted by curiosity, he respectfully knocks 
at the door. A venerable old man, with* a pleasant coun¬ 
tenance and courteous and affable in his manners, pre- 


CRITERION. 


198 

sents himself; he conducts the visitor to the interior of 
the cloister, shows him the chapel, the choir, the library 
and whatever other places are worthy of being seen and 
admired. 

The gray-haired monk remains with his visitor; he 
keeps up the conversation with much good sense and 
discernment; treats his opinions with courteous respect 
and shows himself most willing to oblige him so far as 
lies in his power; he leaves him only when the signal 
calls him to the performance of some duty. The poet 
experiences agreeable emotions in his interior. The si¬ 
lence that reigns in the cloister, broken only by the chant 
of psalms ; the variety of religious objects that inspire 
devotion and recollection ; the attractive manners of the 
venerable old monk, have stirred up in his heart senti¬ 
ments of admiration, of gratitude and of religion. He 
politely takes his leave, and, as he goes his way, his 
mind dwells leisurely on the pleasing recollections which 
he brings with him from the cloister. If, whilst he is in 
this state of mind, he should resolve to put his ideas 
about monastic institutions on paper, you can easily im¬ 
agine the eloquent tribute he will pay to them. The 
monastery which he has seen is a specimen of monaste¬ 
ries in general; the venerable monk whose acquaintance 
he made, is the personified ideal of monastic life. He 
will, therefore, speak of these institutions with glowing 
enthusiasm; he will hurl his anathemas at the infidel 
philosophers that condemn them ; he will speak vehem¬ 
ently against the revolutions that sweep such institutions 
away ; he will shed a tear of sorrow over the ruins of an¬ 
cient abbeys. 

But woe to monasteries if our poet should have met at 


THE INTELLECT. 


I 99 


the door a monk who was in bad hnmor, little disposed 
to enter into conversation or to reply to inquiries, indiffer¬ 
ent to the arts and Belles-lettres, and, above all, not at 
all anxious to satisfy the curiosity of strangers or to tender 
them hospitality. Our poet will regard him as a fair 
specimen of monks in general. In revenge for the indif¬ 
ferent reception he met with, he would at once condemn 
this sort of life as tending to debase the mind, to render 
the heart insensible to all that is noble and beautiful, to 
blunt every generous sentiment of the soul and to ren¬ 
der a man’s character uncouth and repulsive, by making 
him lose all sympathy with his race. Yet, in either hy¬ 
pothesis the real state of things would have been the 
same. In either case our poet’s pen would have been 
guided by the warm or cold reception he met with. 

§ II. NECESSITY OF HAVING WELL-SETTLED IDEAS. 

The foregoing reflections show the necessity of having 
settled ideas on subjects of importance. These ideas 
can only be the result of careful study. If we have not 
thus obtained them we should abstain from forming them 
from impressions of the moment. We have said that 
great ideas are born of the heart, but it is equally true 
that great errors proceed from the heart. If experience 
didT noT'prove this, reason would prove it abundantly. 
The heart does not judge, it only feels ; but sentiment 
exercises a powerful influence over the soul and multi¬ 
plies her powers wonderfully. It is certain that senti¬ 
ments influence the intellect immensely either for good 
or evil. 


200 


CRITERION. 


§ 12. DUTIES OF ORATORS, POETS AND ARTISTS. 

The thoughts expressed in the preceding paragraphs 
naturally suggest some reflections of grave importance on 
the use that should be made of oratory and of all those 
arts that reach the intellect through the medium of the 
heart. Painting, sculpture, music, poetry and literature 
in all its branches, have important duties to fulfil that 
are, unfortunately, too much overlooked. These duties 
are comprised in two words, viz.: truth and virtue. How¬ 
ever much art may charm us by its beauties, if it does 
not enlighten our minds by truth and instil virtue into 
our hearts, it produces no good but becomes a prolific 
source of evil. 

The artist whose sole aim is to gratify men’s passions, 
abuses his talents and forgets the sublime mission for 
which the Creator destined him when He bestowed on 
him talents so superior to those of other men. The ora¬ 
tor, who uses the almost irresistible powers which a clear 
intelligence, a vivid imagination and a charming diction 
give him over the minds and hearts of men, merely for 
the purpose of leading these same men into error, is no 
better than a contemptible impostor. Others may ac¬ 
complish their nefarious design by means that are baser 
and more revolting, but he is decidedly a more danger¬ 
ous man than they are, and he is more guilty before God 
and man. Persuasion is not lawful when conviction 
would be a crime. When conviction is an error persua¬ 
sion is perfidy. This is strong language, but it is not 
too strong. The dictates of reason are not too severe 
when they harmonize with the prescriptions of the eter¬ 
nal law. 


THE INTELLECT. 


201 


From this we infer, that writers and speakers who pro¬ 
stitute their talents by enlisting them in the service of 
error and immorality, are a real public calamity. Of 
what use is a pompous, brilliant diction if it only perverts 
us and brings us to ruin ? Modern nations have, to a 
great extent, forgotten these truths. Reason, sound and 
enlightened, should hold supreme sway in councils in 
which the affairs of state and the interests of society at 
large are discussed. History contains only too many ex¬ 
amples of the terrible evils that may be caused by un¬ 
principled eloquence. You may excite the enthusiasm 
of an assembly, you may charm your hearers by the graces 
of oratory and use them as pliable tools to carry out your 
wicked measures, but truth always remains truth and the 
realities of things undergo no change. Is what you de¬ 
fend true or is it false ? Is it useful or injurious ? This 
is the point you should bear in mind. If you lose sight 
of it your conduct is disgraceful ; you forget the great ob¬ 
ject of all deliberations, you play with the sacred inter¬ 
ests of society or sacrifice them to a contemptible desire 
of gaining applause by a vain ostentation of your oratori¬ 
cal abilities. 

It has already been observed that all assemblies, par¬ 
ticularly at the outburst of revolutions, are animated by 
a spirit of invasion, and are remarkable for the incon¬ 
siderate manner in which they pass the most important 
resolutions. Sometimes the sessions begin under happy 
auspices, but suddenly the situation becomes dangerous; 
minds are agitated, reason seems to have fled, the excite¬ 
ment grows intensely wild and uproarious, and an assem¬ 
bly of men, each of whom at home would be very rational, 
is changed into a crowd of furious maniacs. The rea- 


202 


CRITERION. 


son is obvious : the impression of the moment is intense¬ 
ly lively, it stifles the voice of reason, it reigns supreme ; 
like the electric fluid it communicates itself to others and 
subjects them to its control, and what was at first only a 
little spark is now a frightful conflagration. 

Time, blunders, and sad experience sometimes teach 
nations useful lessons ; their sensibilities grow less strong 
and are not so easily wounded, and, in proportion as this 
takes place, the fascinations of oratory grow less irresist¬ 
ible But, however this may be—since we cannot change 
the heart of man, let us esteem and honor the illustrious 
orators who fight in the cause of truth and justice with 
the same arts with which others defend falsehood and 
crime. If Providence allows a poisonous plant to grow, 
at its side It causes to grow another plant that gives you 
the antidote against it. 

§ 13 . IDEAS CLOTHED IN IMAGES-ILLUSIONS. 

The errors that proceed from sentiment are not the 
only ones against which we must be on our guard ; there 
are other errors that are equally dangerous and common, 
though they are feared less ; they are thoughts expressed 
in pleasing imagery. The effect of this artful way of ex¬ 
pressing our thoughts is almost incredible. We make 
the most superficial assertions and it is thought that we 
have uttered profound truths, because we clothe our 
utterances in seductive language; beneath a pleasing 
and attractive attire vulgarity conceals its lowly origin, 
and propositions which, if expressed in plain and simple 
words, would at once appear absurd and false, may seem 
to be solid, incontestable truths, when uttered in beauti¬ 
ful, figurative speech. Profound and sententious authors 


ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY. 203 

often fall into the error we here speak of, and as they are 
accustomed to make their assertions in tones of deep con¬ 
viction, and as their opinions are treated with great re¬ 
spect, they easily lead the incautious reader into error; 
he accepts as an indubitable principle what is only a 
dream of their imagination, or perhaps a snare purposely 
laid for him. 


Chapter XX. 

ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY. 

§ I. IN WHAT THE PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY CONSISTS- 

DIFFICULTY OF MASTERING IT. 

I do not here consider history from a critical, but 
merely from a philosophical point of view. All that re¬ 
lates to the simple inquiry into historical facts, has been 
explained in a preceding chapter. 

What is the most proper method for acquiring a cor¬ 
rect knowledge of the spirit of an epoch in history ? How 
are we to proceed if we desire to have clear, distinct and 
exact ideas of its characteristic features ? of the causes 
that produced its events and of the importance of their 
respective results ? In other words, what method are we 
to adopt if we would learn the philosophy of history ? 
Shall we begin by selecting good historians for our guides ? 
But who good historians ? How can we know that 
they have not written under the influence of passion ? 



204 


CRITERION. 


Who will guarantee their impartiality ? How many are 
there who have written history in such a manner as to 
enable us to learn the philosophy of history ? Battles, 
diplomatic negotiations, court intrigues, the lives and 
deaths of princes, changes of dynasties and of forms of 
government, these are the materials from which history 
is generally composed. Historians seldom or never de¬ 
scribe the characters of individuals, their ideas, senti¬ 
ments, tastes, humors and habits of life ; seldom or never 
do they give us an insight into the inner life of families 
and nations, and we cannot easily form an idea of the 
onward march of our race from their writings. 

Ever absorbed in politics, they in a manner float on 
the surface of society without ever descending into its 
innermost depths. They relate striking facts, noisy events, 
but fail to enter into the nature of things and do not di¬ 
rect our attention to obscure facts and causes which, 
though insignificant, apparently, may yet be of great im¬ 
portance to the philosophical student of history. Men 
have begun to perceive this defect in our historical works, 
and efforts are being made to remedy it. In our day no 
man writes a history without philosophizing upon it. 
Doubtless, this in itself is well enough, but it happens 
not unfrequently that instead of giving us the philosophy 
of history the historian gives us a philosophy of his own. 

No philosophy at all is better than bad philosophy. 
If, in attempting to give a profound analysis of the events 
of history, I only envelop them in greater obscurity, then 
I would surely do better if I confined myself to ttye simple 
statement of names and dates. 


ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY. 205 

§ 2. A MEANS FOR MAKING PROGRESS IN THE STUDY OF 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY. 

We must read historians ; if we have none that are ab¬ 
solutely faultless, let us read those that are within our 
reach. I do not think, however, that by the mere read¬ 
ing of historical works we can attain a thorough know¬ 
ledge of the philosophy of history. 

There is another method, which, if judiciously fol¬ 
lowed, will be more advantageous ; it is the study of the 
monuments of the different epochs of history. By this 
study I mean that we must not rest content with what 
others have said or written about these monuments, but 
that we must examine them for ourselves. It will be ob¬ 
jected that this will be a tedious process ; that it will de¬ 
mand an amount of labor which some men cannot pos¬ 
sibly perform, and which is, to say the least, difficult lor 
all. I will not deny the force of the objection; but I 
believe that in very many cases the method I here pro¬ 
pose would save labor and time. The sight of a build¬ 
ing, the reading of a document or an inscription, a simple 
word to which the historian possibly attached no special 
importance, and which, at first sight, may seem insigni¬ 
ficant, will frequently convey much more exact informa¬ 
tion than we could gather from the facts which the his¬ 
torian relates. A writer wishes to draw a picture of the 
simplicity of patriarchal life ; he gives us facts that bear 
on the manners, customs and ideas of the most remote 
times; he exhausts his philosophy, his eloquence, his 
erudition, in the attempt to draw a perfect picture of 
those times and persons. 

But, notwithstanding all he has so learnedly written, I 


20 6 


CRITERION. 


have a more simple method for obtaining the knowledge 
I desire, I assist at the scenes that represent the reali¬ 
ties of life in those early times ; I read contemporary 
writers : they are few and their writings are not volumi¬ 
nous, but the faithful descriptions they contain instruct 
my mind and afford my imagination exquisite pleasure. 
The Bible and Homer leave me nothing to desire. 

§ 3. APPLICATION OF THE FOREGOING TO THE HISTORY OF 
THE HUMAN MIND. 

The human intellect has its history, even as ex¬ 
ternal events have theirs. Of all histories that of man’s 
intellect is the most important ; it shows us man’s inner¬ 
most being, and the causes that exercise the most power¬ 
ful influence over him. We everywhere find descriptions 
of schools and of the character and tendencies of the hu¬ 
man mind during the various epochs of history. This 
shows that many historians have attempted to describe 
the intellectual development of our race. If, however, 
we would not rest satisfied with mere generalizations, that 
frequently are not only inexact but false, we must apply 
the rule which I have laid down—we must study the 
works of those that wrote during the period with which 
we desire to become acquainted. We do not at all say 
that one must absolutely consult all the writers of any 
given period ; for the majority of readers this would be 
simply impossible. In a simple page of any one writer 
we find his spirit and the spirit of his age more vividly 
depicted than in the writings of the most minute histo¬ 


rian. 


ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY. 20 7 

§ 4. AN EXAMPLE TAKEN FROM THE PHYSIOGNOMY OF MAN, 
WHICH ILLUSTRATES WHAT HAS BEEN SAID ABOUT THE 
STUDY OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY. 

If the reader will be content with what others tell him 
and never examine things for himself, he will, indeed, at 
times, obtain an historical, but never an intuitive know¬ 
ledge of events; he will know men and things, but he 
will not know them by sight; he will know the reason 
of a fact, but he will be unable to give an exact exposi- 
tion of it. 

A comparison will explain my reasoning. I hear a 
person spoken of whom I have never seen. The impor¬ 
tance attached to her makes me anxious to know some 
particulars about her appearance, her looks, her man¬ 
ners. I apply to friends who are personally acquainted 
with her for the desired information. She is, I am told, 
about medium height; her forehead is large, noble ; her 
rich, dark hair falls carelessly over her shoulders ; she has 
large eyes and her look is lively and penetrating, she is 
of a pale color, but her features are animated and ex¬ 
pressive ; on her lips a pleasant smile may frequently be 
observed, though at times her countenance betrays some¬ 
what of a malignant disposition ; her words are well 
weighed, grave, noble, but when excited her speech grows 
rapid, fiery, and sometimes unpleasantly cutting. Thus 
my friends go on describing her physical and moral quali¬ 
ties. If I suppose that their description is exact, that it 
presents a faithful copy of the original, then I have an 
idea of the person that excited my curiosity ; I will be 
able to describe her to others precisely as she was de¬ 
scribed to me. But do I know this person so perfectly 


208 


CRITERION. 


as to be able to picture her to my imagination such as 
she really is ? No. Here is a proof of it : suppose 
that the person who has heard our description is an artist 
of marked ability, will he be able to delineate the per¬ 
son described on his canvas ? Let him attempt to do it; 
when his work is finished, let the living original suddenly 
present herself before you. I am certain you will say of 
the picture : it is not she. 

We have all experienced in ourselves this truth. We 
have often heard the physiognomy of a person described 
to us; we have endeavored, as well as we could, to re¬ 
produce in our imagination an image of the person that 
would express every feature indicated to us ; yet, when 
afterwards we met the person in question, we were com¬ 
pelled to retouch our picture, or perhaps even to destroy 
it entirely as bearing no resemblance to the original. 
There are, therefore, things of which we cannot form 
clear and perfect ideas unless we have them before us. 
Every physiognomy has its own nice, delicate features; 
they may be almost imperceptible when taken separately, 
but unite them in one person and you have given that 
person an appearance that distinguishes her from every 
other human being. How will you explain the diversity 
of two persons that resemble each other very closely ? It 
is only by seeing the two. There is an almost perfect 
resemblance between the two; you cannot say in what 
they differ from each other, yet there is a something that 
prevents you from confounding one with the other. You 
perceive it the moment you see them, though you may 
not at once suspect what it is. 

This example explains my idea. Critics give us lengthy 
and sometimes exact descriptions of the state of the hu- 


ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY. 209 

man mind during the period of which they write ; yet, 
notwithstanding these descriptions, we are often unable 
to form distinct ideas of the subject in question. If we 
saw extracts from writers of different periods, we would 
probably be unable to classify them properly; we would 
undergo the fatigue of recalling to our minds the charac¬ 
teristics of the one and the other, but this would not 
prevent us from falling into gross errors and extravagant 
anachronisms. With much less fatigue would we ob¬ 
tain the information we desire if we read the writings 
of the men treated of. We may not bring to the work 
the vast array of erudition wnich the historian has at his 
command, but our judgment on the matter would be 
much more exact and just. The development of thought, 
we would say, the style and the language, show that the 
author wrote during this or that period; this piece is 
apocryphal, it must have been written by a man who lived 
at a different period. And thus we go on examining and 
forming opinions without fear of falling into error, though 
we may be unable to make ourselves perfectly under¬ 
stood by those who have not examined the subject for 
themselves, as we have done. If, then, any one should 
ask “ How is it that we do not find in this man such or 
such a quality ? How is it that he possesses that other 
quality in so high a degree ? How account for this ?” 
We may not be able, we would reply, to satisfy your, 
doubts on these points. We can assure you, however, 
that we are well acquainted with the persons that figure 
here ; we cannot mistake their physiognomy, for we have 
seen them repeatedly. 


Chapter XXL 


ON RELIGION. 

§ I. FOLLY OF THOSE WHO ARE INDIFFERENT ABOUT MATTERS 
OF RELIGION. 

A FORMAL treatise on religion would be out of place 
in this work. A few remarks on a subject of such vital 
importance may not, however, be improper. They will 
show that a man cannot feel indifferent about matters 
of religion, without renouncing his reason and common 
sense. / 

Life is short, death certain. I/A robust constitution, ex¬ 
cellent health, may seem to promise many years of life ; 
yet these years are fast fleeting away, and sooner, per¬ 
haps, than we expect, we shall have gone into the grave 
and shall know from experience what there is of truth in 
what religion teaches about the destinies of man in a fu¬ 
ture state. A man may reject religion, he may ridicule 
its teachings, and refuse to be guided by its precepts; but 
doubt and ridicule change not the realities of facts; if 
there exists a world in which virtue is rewarded and vice 
punished, our denial of its existence will not destroy it; 
neither will a man escape from future, punishment, be¬ 
cause during life he imagined that future punishment 
was merely a fiction, invented by a disordered brain. The 
last hour will come, I will die ; I will either return into 
nothingness, or I will find myself confronting eternity. 


ON RELIGION. 


211 


If, what religion teaches about eternity, should turn out 
true . . . What then . . . ? 

It is plain that this is an affair of more than trifling im¬ 
portance. It is an affair that concerns me personally. 
No man will die for me ; no man will stand in my place 
in the other world, to be rewarded for my good deeds or 
punished for what I have done amiss. A man comes 
and tells me : Eat, drink, make good cheer; let not re¬ 
ligious scruples stand in the way of pleasure ; religion is 
all nonsense ! Other men, as learned and as good as he, 
say : Religion is not all nonsense; it is sober truth ! 
What shall I do ? Investigate the matter for myself. Do 
this and you will have the satisfaction of knowing that 
you have acted like a rational being. There is neither 
reason nor common sense in religious indifference. A 
traveller arrives at a dangerous river ; he must cross it; 
on the banks of the river a crowd of people study the 
water’s depths at different places ; our traveller laughs at 
their fears and boldly plunges into the water without re¬ 
flecting for a moment on the impetuosity of the current. 
Is such conduct rational ? Here you have the religious 
indifferentist. 

§ 2. INDIFFERENTISTS CONFRONTED WITH THE HUMAN RACE. 

Religion has ever been regarded by the whole human 
race as a matter of the very gravbst importance. Men of 
letters have made it the subject of their most serious stu¬ 
dies ; legislators have recognized the fact; our libraries 
are filled with religious works ; they daily issue from the 
press in prodigious numbers; men talk about religion, 
profess religion in every land. At every step through life 
we meet facts that speak unmistakably of the deep inter- 


212 


CRITERION. 


est people take in religion at the present day; and the 
monuments, documents and writings that have come 
down to us from former ages, prove conclusively that it 
has always been so. The indifferentist comes and says : 
This is all nonsense ! These legislators have lost their 
brains ; these wise men are fools, the human race is the 
miserable dupe of vain illusions, and you are a fool if 
you lose your time in examining into the silly questions 
of religion. But, friend, who are you ? How have you 
become so much wiser than'the rest of mankind? By 
what process of reasoning have you arrived at the conclu¬ 
sion that it is wisdom to insult the most sacred sentiments 
of the human heart, and to ridicule the traditions of our 
race ? Have you studied the subject of religion ? Have 
you studied it more thoroughly than other men who were 
wiser and better than you are ? You call these men fools ; 
that is easily said ; will it be as easy for you to convince 
the world that you are not youself a fool, as it says you 
are ? Must the human race have erred because you say 
so? Surely, my friend, you would not make yourself 
ridiculous. There may exist a supreme judge who will 
cite all men to appear before him. The sincerely reli¬ 
gious man has no reason to be afraid of him ; it is the 
indifferentist that has reason to feel uneasy in his soul. 
Will you plead your religious indifference in your de¬ 
fense ? Will you say to the judge : What cared I about 
you and your law ? I did not think these questions 
worthy of a man’s serious attention. You may die at 
any moment. Seat yourself on the tomb that awaits 
you ... ; be recollected . . . meditate seriously. . . 
It can do you no harm. 



ON RELIGION. 


213 


§ 3. TRANSITION FROM INDIFFERENTISM TO INQUIRY-THE 

EXISTENCE OF GOD. 

The question of religion is an important question. 
Indifference about religion cannot be defended. It is 
simple folly, unworthy of a man who claims to be en¬ 
dowed with ordinary common sense. Renounce this 
indifferentism and proceed at once to answer the ques¬ 
tion : Whether or not it be probable that all religions 
are simply a mass of errors, and that the policy of reject¬ 
ing them all is the correct policy? The foundation 
on which all religions rest, and which they all presup¬ 
pose is the existence of God. Does God exist ? Does 
there exist a Creator of the universe ? Contemplate the 
glory of the heavens, study the beauty of the earth ; enter 
into yourself and examine the wonders of your own be¬ 
ing ! See the beautiful order, the perfect harmony that 
reign everywhere and say if you dare : It is chance that 
has made all these things ! No architect raised this gor¬ 
geous structure ; no artist constructed this wondrous me¬ 
chanism ; no mind established this admirable order ! It 
is all the effect of pure chance. Can you seriously be¬ 
lieve this ? If a man were to tell you that a simple work 
of art, a clock, for example, was made by chance, you 
would laugh at him ; and you can believe that the world 
is the effect of chance ! Surely, you must acknowledge 
that such logic is contemptible. 

§ 4. IT IS IMPOSSIBLE THAT ALL RELIGIONS SHOULD BE 
TRUE. 

The religions that exist in the world differ greatly from 
each other. Can they all be true ? If one religion af- 


214 


CRITERION. 


firms a doctrine and another denies it, the two cannot be 
correct at the same time. The Jews hold that the Mes¬ 
siah has not yet appeared ; Christians assert that He has 
appeared; the Musselman reveres Mahomet as a prophet 
sent by heaven ; Christians denounce him as a shameless 
impostor; the Catholic believes that the Church is infal¬ 
lible ; the Protestant denies that she has any claims to in¬ 
fallibility. Either the one or the other must be in error. 
Therefore, all religions cannot be true. All religions 
claim for themselves a divine origin. The religion which 
can satisfactorily establish this claim, is the true religion. 
All others are evidently the offspring of ignorance, super¬ 
stition or wicked imposture. 

§ 5. ALL RELIGIONS CANNOT BE EQUALLY ACCEPTABLE TO 
GOD. 

Can all religions be equally acceptable to God ? Can 
He be as much pleased with one form of worship as 
with another ? Evidently not. Infinite truth cannot be 
pleased with falsehood ; infinite goodness cannot take 
pleasure in evil. Whoso asserts that all religions are 
equally good, that man may fulfil his duties towards God 
by adopting any form of religion indiscriminately, asserts 
absurdities, and blasphemes the veracity and goodness 
of his Creator. 

§ 6. IT IS IMPOSSIBLE THAT ALL RELIGIONS SHOULD BE 
PURELY HUMAN INVENTIONS. 

But may we not be permitted to think that there ex¬ 
ists no one true religion, and that they are all simple in¬ 
ventions ? No. The origin of religion dates so far back 
as to be lost in the twilight of time. Wherever we find 


ON RELIGION. 


215 


man we find the priest, the altar, the place of religious 
worship. How happens it that we do not even know 
the name of the man whose discovery has been accepted 
in every part of the globe, and by all the generations 
that are known to have existed ? If he belonged to some 
civilized nation, how did religion make its way into bar¬ 
barous countries ? How did it become known and ac¬ 
cepted among savages? If he was a barbarian how will 
you account for the fact that religion has at all times of 
which history makes mention, flourished among the most 
civilized nations on earth ? Will you say that religion is 
a social necessity, that therefore it is as old as human so¬ 
ciety ? But then I might ask : Who was the man that 
discovered this great want of human nature and of soci¬ 
ety ? Who was it that discovered the means to satisfy 
this want ? Who was it that discovered a system of doc¬ 
trines and of laws so admirably adapted to the wants of 
the human race, so powerful to restrain men from evil 
and to incite them to virtuous deeds ? And having dis¬ 
covered the system, by what magic charms did he sub¬ 
ject to himself the minds and hearts of all men ? How 
did he succeed to identify religion with man so com¬ 
pletely as to render it in a manner a second nature to 
him ? The most useful, the most important discoveries 
are often known only to some one people or other; a 
long time elapses before its immediate neighbors or na¬ 
tions with whom it has little intercourse, become ac¬ 
quainted with them; they scarcely ever become known 
to the race at large. Why did not the same happen in 
the case of religion ? How has religion become known 
to every people on earth, whatever may have been their 
country, their language, their civilization, their habits, 


216 


CRITERION. 


their enlightenment or their ignorance ? We can only 
give one of two answers. Either religion has come to man 
through a primitive revelation or it is the offspring of na¬ 
tural inspiration. In either case the divinity of its origin 
is established. 

If a revelation exists, then has God spoken to man. If 
no revelation exists, then God has engraved the law of re¬ 
ligion on our innermost being. Religion cannot, there¬ 
fore, be a purely human invention. However greatly it 
may have been disfigured in different countries and times, 
we yet always find at the bottom of the human heart a re¬ 
ligious sentiment that can only have come from above. 
It may have revealed itself during the lapse of ages under 
monstrous forms, yet we everywhere discover unmistak¬ 
able traces of a primitive revelation, 

§ 7. REVELATION IS POSSIBLE. 

Can God give a revelation to man ? He can, undoubt¬ 
edly. He has given language to man, and shall he not 
possess it himself? He has enabled us to communicate 
to others our thoughts and affections. Can he not do 
the same himself? Is He who has given us intelligence 
not able to enlighten it ? 

§ 8. SOLUTION OF A DIFFICULTY AGAINST REVELATION. 

It is said that God stands on so lofty an eminence that 
it cannot be supposed that He would ever condescend to 
converse with poor mortals. But how, then, did He 
condescend to create man ? When He created him, He 
drew him out of nothing ; when He reveals truth to him, 
He elevates him in the scale of perfection. When was 
it ever heard that an artist debases himself by perfect- 


ON RELIGION. 


217 


ing his own work ? And is not God free to perfect His 
work in any manner He chooses ? Whatever knowledge 
we have,we have received from God, for He has either 
directly communicated it to us or He has enabled us to 
acquire it. If He has given us a certain order of ideas, 
without thereby doing anything degrading to His infinite 
majesty, it is absurd to say that He would lower Himself 
by giving us cognitions through other channels than those 
of nature. Revelation is, therefore, possible. It is not 
easy to see how any man can doubt about its possibility 
without doubting of God’s omnipotence and of His very 
existence. 

§ 9. RESULTS OF THE PRECEDING PARAGRAPHS. 

It is of the greatest importance to know what truth 
there may be in religion (§ 1-2). All religions cannot 
be true (§4). If there exists a religion divinely revealed, 
it is the true religion (§4). Religion cannot be a hu¬ 
man invention (§ 6). Revelation is possible (§7). It 
remains for us to see whether or not revelation exists, 
and if it exists, where it may be found. 

§ IO. EXISTENCE OF REVELATION. 

Does revelation exist ? A fact at once presents itself 
that would lead us to think that it exists. All the peo¬ 
ple of the world speak of a revelation, and it cannot rea¬ 
sonably be supposed that they have all conspired together 
to devise an imposture or to deceive themselves. This • 
proves the existence of a primitive tradition that has come 
down from father to son during the lapse of ages : the 
knowledge of it may have become more or less obscured 
as time went on, but it never became completely erased 


218 


CRITERION. 


from the memory of man. Will it be said that fiction 
has given names to the zephyr, that it has transformed the 
phenomena of nature into mysterious apparitions, that 
thus frail mortals have believed themselves surrounded by 
superior beings that influenced their destinies, and initi¬ 
ated them into the mysterious secrets of other worlds ? 
The objection seems plausible, but it is easy to show 
that it has no foundation in reality. When a man has 
an idea of such mysterious beings, when he is convinced 
that they can have intercourse with him, he can easily 
imagine that mysterious sounds are whispered into his 
ear and that he sees phantoms from another world. But 
when he labors not under such conviction, when he 
knows nothing of the existence of such beings, this is not 
possible. Whence could these extravagant illusions pro¬ 
ceed ? Surely from the imagination only. Now who¬ 
ever has reflected on the subject, knows that all the cre¬ 
ations of the imagination, even the most incoherent and 
absurd, proceed from objects we have seen before, and 
which we unite together in any manner pleasing to our 
caprice. 

The enchanted castles of which we read in romance, 
with their venerable dames and graceful nymphs and 
mischievous dwarfs ; their mysterious chambers and sub¬ 
terranean recesses and magic charms and whatever more 
of folly they contain, are simply an irregular aggregate 
of real parts which the writer throws together according to 
his caprice, in order to build up an edifice that suits his 
imagination. The same may be said of all else of this 
sort. Reason and experience bear witness to this ideo¬ 
logical phenomenon. If, therefore, we suppose that a 
man knows nothing of a life distinct from life on earth, 


ON RELIGION. 


2I 9 

or of a world distinct from the world in which he lives, 
or of beings distinct from the beings with which he comes 
in contact, his imagination may, indeed, conceive giants 
and monstrous beasts and similar absurdities, but not in¬ 
visible beings, not a heaven of which he knows nothing, 
not gods that influence his destiny. This ideal, purely 
fantastic world will not occur to his mind. There is no 
point of departure from which he could proceed to dis¬ 
cover it; there is nothing in his mind on which the idea 
of it could rest as on a proper basis. But even if it be 
granted that some individual mind could form such an 
order of ideas, it will yet be impossible to conceive how 
they could have become the ideas of the human race at 
large. When has such an intellectual and moral conta¬ 
gion ever been witnessed since the world 'was made ? 

But whatever may or may not be the force of these re¬ 
flections, we shall proceed to facts that will speak for 
themselves. 

§ II. HISTORICAL PROOFS OF THE EXISTENCE OF REVELA¬ 
TION. 

There exists a society which claims to be the sole de¬ 
pository and interpreter of the revelations which God has 
been pleased to make to the human race. The claims 
of this society cannot reasonably be treated with con¬ 
tempt, they are such as to merit serious investigation. 
What society is this ? How old is it ? It has existed du¬ 
ring eighteen centuries. Even these eighteen centuries 
form only one period of its history, for it dates further 
back ; it traces its genealogy up to the very beginning of 
the world. That this society has existed during the last 
eighteen hundred years, that its history is linked to the 


220 


CRITERION. 


history of a people whose origin is lost in remotest an¬ 
tiquity, is as sure as it is certain that the republics of 
Greece and Rome have existed. 

What titles does it present in support of its claims ? It 
refers us to a book that is unquestionably the oldest book 
in existence; it contains the most excellent moral pre¬ 
cepts, and a most admirable system of legislation, and it 
relates an uninterrupted series of miracles wrought in 
favor of the society in question. A considerable portion 
of this book has *come down to us from a people who, 
in point of mental culture, were inferior to many other 
nations of antiquity ; yet no one has ever yet called the 
eminent merits of the book in question. 

When this society was first organized, a revolution took 
place in the world, society was completely remodelled, a 
new order of things was established and the most impor¬ 
tant epoch in the history of the human race began. All 
this happened precisely as it had been foretold in the 
mysterious book. The society, moreover, tells us that 
when the fullness of time arrived, a Man-God appeared 
on earth; that in Him the Old Law was fulfilled, and 
that He is the author of the New Law; it points Him 
out to us as the founder of the society which we call the 
Catholic Church, to which Judaism is a magnificent in¬ 
troduction. It tells us that Christ sealed His doctrine 
with His blood ; that, on the third day after His cruci¬ 
fixion and death, He arose again to life ; that He ascend¬ 
ed into heaven, and will come again at the end of the 
world to judge the living and the dead. It assures us 
that Christ promised His assistance to His Church, even 
to the end of time; that He, moreover, sent to her the 


ON RELIGION. 


221 


Spirit of Truth to remain with her forever, teach her all 
truth and preserve her from all error. 

Is it true that the prophesies contained in the Old Tes¬ 
tament were literally fulfilled in Christ ? It is undeni¬ 
able. When we read the prophesies made many cen¬ 
turies before Christ appeared on earth, we almost im¬ 
agine that we read the life of Christ written by His dis¬ 
ciples. 

Did Christ give any proofs of the divinity of His mis¬ 
sion ? He wrought numberless miracles, and whatever 
He foretold has happened precisely as He had predicted. 
What life did He lead while on earth ? A truly admir¬ 
able life, worthy in every respect of a God clothed in hu¬ 
man form. He despised riches and worldly greatness ; 
He went about instructing the ignorant, healing the sick, 
doing good to all; He submitted without a murmur to 
privations, insults, torments, and, finally, to the most 
cruel and ignominious death. 

What doctrines did He preach? The most admirable 
doctrines that had ever yet been announced on earth ; 
doctrines that surpass immeasurably all that human phi¬ 
losophy had ever yet taught. Has the most implacable 
enemy of Christ ever ventured to impugn the incompar¬ 
able excellence of His teachings ? Consider the social 
changes which Christ effected. Compare the Christian 
world with the pagan ; compare the people to whom 
Christianity has never been preached with those who for 
ages have been enlightened by its teachings, and even 
with those who have fallen into heresy and thereby adul-. 
terated the purity of Christian truth. 

What human means had Christ at His command to es- 


222 


CRITERION. 


tablish His Church ? He had not on earth a place where 
to rest His head ; He one day met some poor, ignorant 
fishermen and told them to follow Him ; twelve fisher¬ 
men did He send out into the world to convert it to His 
religion ; the world listened to the fishermen, and was 
converted. 

Has Christianity ever encountered opposition ? has it 
passed through the ordeal of persecution ? Here you see 
the blood of its martyrs flowing in torrents; there you 
see hosts of philosophers attempting to throw ridicule on 
its doctrines ; in every corner of the Roman Empire you 
see scaffolds and funeral piles erected ; everywhere you 
see mouuments that bear witness to the terrific struggles 
through which Christianity has passed. Princes, the wise 
men of the age, human passions, interests, prejudices, 
have all risen up against the Church, and the Church has 
triumphed over all and seemed to gain new strength 
from the very struggles through which she passed. How 
did this happen ? What means did the early propaga¬ 
tors of the Christian religion employ to insure the sucess of 
their undertaking ? Their own spotless conduct, preach¬ 
ing, miracles which they wrought. The most exacting 
critic cannot reject these miracles; or if he reject them, 
how will he account for a fact which is more stupendous 
than any miracle, viz.: the establishment of the Christian 
religion without the aid of miracles ? No religion has 
ever been so universally and severely discussed as the 
Christian religion ; on no one have such learned books 
been written; the most eminent geniuses have deemed it 
an honor to defend its claims, and have found rest and 
peace of mind by submitting their reason to its doctrines. 
Christianity has been the religion of the civilized world 


ON RELIGION. 


223 


ever since the cross was planted on the Roman capitol. 
It is either a divine religion, or the most enlightened na¬ 
tions of the last eighteen hundred years, and the bright¬ 
est intellects of the human race have sadly erred on a 
point of most vital importance to individuals and to so¬ 
ciety at large. 

§ 12. PROTESTANTS AND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. 

For the last three centuries there has existed a split 
among Christians. A considerable number separated 
from the Catholic Church about three hundred years ago ; 
they retained some of the Catholic doctrines and rejected 
others that were not pleasing to them. These seceders 
laid down the fundamental principle that the Bible is the 
sole rule of faith, and that every individual has the sacred 
right to interpret it for himself, and to frame his religious 
system accordingly. They were soon split up among 
themselves into a thousand sects, not one of which is 
to-day what it was when it was first established. Pro¬ 
testantism in its very nature leads to constant changes. 
Now, as the Catholic Church and every Protestant de¬ 
nomination claim to be in possession of truth, the ques¬ 
tion naturally arises : Which among them can be the 
true religion ? Protestantism is of recent date ; the Ca¬ 
tholic Church has existed during eighteen hundred years ; 
she traces the succession of her pastors up to the Apos¬ 
tles. The Catholic Church teaches to-day every article 
of faith which she has ever taught at any time of her ex¬ 
istence ; she condemns every change in doctrine ; Pro¬ 
testants have taught the most conflicting doctrines ; the 
same sect has often rejected doctrines which a short time 
before it had strenuously defended. Thus, in Protes- 


224 


CRITERION. 


tantism you find novelty and variety, in the Catholic 
Church antiquity and unity. This fact may be unpleas¬ 
ant to Protestants, but it is a fact, nevertheless, which 
cannot be destroyed by a simple denial. Moreover, the 
Catholic holds that there can be no salvation outside the 
one true Church ; the Protestant thinks that even a Ca¬ 
tholic may be saved. He acknowledges, therefore, that 
a man may be a devout Catholic and yet risk nothing. 
Hence, the Protestant grounds his hope of salvation on his 
own authority exclusively, whereas the Catholic grounds 
his on his own authority and that of Protestants. Since, 
therefore, on a point of such infinite importance, the Ca¬ 
tholic has such a decided advantage over the Protestant, 
it is, at least, evident that it is very imprudent to abandon 
the Catholic faith and become a Protestant. I have here 
briefly stated the line of reasoning which the Catholic 
adopts when he wishes to give “a reason for the faith 
that is in him,” and to show that he acts prudently by 
remaining a Catholic. I will subjoin a few remarks that 
may guard us against the danger to which the faith of the 
incautious is sometimes exposed. 

§ I 3 . ERRONEOUS METHOD OF REASONING PURSUED BY SOME 
ENEMIES OF THE CATHOLIC FAITH. 

Some people adopt a very erroneous method of reason¬ 
ing when they examine into matters of faith. They take 
hold of some particular point of doctrine, and if they find 
any objection against it which they are unable to solve, 
they at once conclude that the religion which teaches 
that doctrine must be false, or that, at least, its truth 
may be called in question. This mode of reasoning 
shows how very superficially some men study the subject 


ON RELIGION. 


225 


of religion He who enters thoroughly into the subject 
of revealed religion will not inquire whether or not a 
doctrine is intelligible to his mind, or whether or not 
the solution which we give of objections raised against 
particular doctrines are satisfactory ; at least, he will not 
regard this as a point of primary importance. The 
Church herself tells us that her doctrines are mysterious ; 
that they surpass the comprehension of reason ; that as 
long as we are in this life we may not pretend to see the 
mysteries of God otherwise than ‘ ‘ through a glass and 
in a dark manner,” hence she requires faith of us and 
faith is “the substance of things to be hoped for, the 
evidence of things that appear not.” He, therefore, who 
refuses to believe a doctrine merely because he under¬ 
stands it not, is guilty of a manifest contradiction. 

If you understood the doctrine you would not be re¬ 
quired to believe it. Wnen you object to religion on the 
ground of the mysterious obscurity of its doctrines, you 
bring against it a charge against which it does not even 
wish to defend itself; it admits it, and in a manner bases 
on it the whole structure of its teachings. The question 
which we have to examine is simply this : Can the Church 
teach erroneous doctrines, or is she an infallible teacher of 
divine truth ? When you have settled this point, it only 
remains for you to inquire what are the exact teachings 
of the Church. The doctrine of the Church’s infallibility 
decides every doctrinal point; it is the point from which 
we mus* start in our religious inquiries. Would you re¬ 
fuse to believe the assertions of a traveller, however strange 
they might seem, if you were satisfied as to his veracity 
and his ability of being correctly informed regarding the 
subject of which he writes ? Surely not. When, there- 


226 


CRITERION. 


fore, you are once assured that the Church cannot lead 
you into error, it matters little whether her doctrines be 
intelligible or obscure. No truth could ever be estab¬ 
lished if some difficulties which we do not and cannot 
solve were a sufficient reason for calling it in question. 
A clever sophist could cast doubt on every question. In 
the sciences, in the arts, even in the ordinar^affairs of 
daily life, we constantly meet with difficulties which render 
objects of whose existence we have no doubt unintelligi¬ 
ble to us. • At times it seems to us that the thing is im¬ 
possible, yet knowing that it really is, we believe it and 
attribute the fact that we do not understand it to our 
want of better information, or to our intellectual weak¬ 
ness. There is nothing more common than to hear a 
man say: I do not understand how what that man says 
can be true; it seems to me to be impossible, yet he 
knows what he talks about and he would not tell an un¬ 
truth. If any other jaa n-w o uld say it I w ould not be¬ 
lieve it, but as it is he who says it, it must be so. 

§ 14. THE HIGHEST PHILOSOPHY IN HARMONY WITH RELI¬ 
GION. 

Some men pretend to be profound thinkers because 
they believe nothing that surpasses their comprehension. 
These men often make a ridiculous display of their igno¬ 
rance. Lord Bacon has said very truly that the superfi¬ 
cial philosopher is generally an irreligious man, whereas 
the real philosopher entertains the profoundest respect for 
religion. No great thinker needs to be told that all sci¬ 
ence is more or less enveloped in mysterious obscurity ; 
that our acquaintance with the secrets of nature is exceed¬ 
ingly limited ; that we do not know what are the constitu- 


ON RELIGION. 


227 


ent elements, the essences of even those things with which 
we daily come into contact; he needs not to be told that 
we are unable to define the universe, which, by its vast¬ 
ness, puzzles our understanding ; that we. are unable to 
define even our own bodies and souls; that the being, 
which is nearer to us than any other, our own being, is 
a mystery to us, and that up to the present day no phi¬ 
losopher has been able to explain the phenomena of life 
and existence. No man has a more profound sense of 
the weakness of the human mind than the philosopher 
who is worthy of the name. Religion teaches him to 
prudently distrust his own intellectual strength; it tells 
him that however praiseworthy the desire of knowledge 
may be in itself, it should yet always be moderated by 
sobriety. He is not shocked at hearing this truth incul¬ 
cated, for he knows that it is in perfect harmony with the 
highest philosophy; he knows, too, that the simple cate¬ 
chism which he was taught in his childhood leads him 
into higher regions of truth than the human mind is able 
to discover when abandoned to its own resources. 

§ 1 5 . HE THAT LEAVES THE CATHOLIC CHURCH KNOWS NOT 
WHERE TO GO. 

We have pointed out the way that leads to the Catho¬ 
lic Church. We will add a few words about those who 
abandon this Church. What will a man do if he leaves 
the Catholic Church ? Will he become a Protestant ? 
But to which of the countless Protestant denominations 
will he attach himself? What solid inducements can he 
have to prefer one sect to another ? It would be absurd 
to join any sect at random, irrespective of its claims to 
truth ; such conduct would show a contempt for all sects. 


228 


CRITERION. 


Or will a man seek rest for his weary soul in philosophy ? 
What is philosophy without religion ? It is simply the 
negation of everything, it is darkness—it is despair. Shall 
he select a form of religion which is neither Catholic nor 
Protestant? Shall he embrace paganism or become a 
disciple of Mahomet? That is not to be thought of. 
Reject the Catholic faith and, whether you will it or not, 
you are driven to the necessity of renouncing all religion. 
Living without religion you will wander in intellectual 
darkness without any guide to show you your way. 
Sooner or later yor will arrive at life’s fatal term. Close 
your eyes and cast yourself into the unknown abyss. 

The Catholic Church gives you all the guarantees you 
can desire for the truth of her teachings. Her laws may 
seem severe and difficult to observe, but will you say that 
they are not just, honest, and perfectly adapted to the 
moral wants of individuals and of society? Experience, 
moreover, shows that in the observance of these laws the 
heart finds peace and content. Through the observance 
of these laws man is ennobled ; he attains the highest ideal 
beauty to which our race can aspire, the highest that has 
ever been dreamt of by the most elevated of poets. The 
Church stands by man in all his sorrows ; she closes his 
eyes in peace. The more he knows her the more con¬ 
vinced does he become of her truth, the more charmed 
he becomes by her beauty and her spirit of love for man. 
Faith throws a charm over the last hours of life, it strips 
the grave of its horrors, it meets man at the end of his 
earthly career and tells him that he may now enter into 
the lovely mansions of eternal rest. 


Chapter XXII. 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 

§ I. CLASSIFICATION OF OUR ACTIONS. 

The acts of the practical intellect are those that direct 
us in our operations. We have here two points to con¬ 
sider, viz.: the end which we ought to propose to our¬ 
selves in what we do, and the means by which that end 
is to be attained. 

It is not necessary to enter here into any lengthy dis¬ 
cussion on these points. We have laid down various 
rules to be observed by those who would acquire the ha¬ 
bit of thinking correctly. Whoever has understood these 
rules knows that he must act for an end ; he knows like¬ 
wise that that end cannot be attained except through 
certain means. We will therefore confine ourselves here 
to a few reflections merely ; they will not lead us beyond 
the limits which we have prescribed to ourselves, and 
they will help us to no small extent to regulate our con¬ 
duct properly. 

§ 2. DIFFICULTY OF PROPOSING TO OURSELVES A PROPER 
END. 

We do not here speak of our ultimate end. It con¬ 
sists in the happiness of a future life. Religion teaches 
us how it is to be attained. We speak solely of second¬ 
ary ends. We wish, for example, to obtain an agreeable 


c c 


230 


CRITERION. 


position in society ; we wish to bring a certain affair to a 
happy termination ; we wish to acquire the friendship of 
a certain person ; we find ourselves involved in difficul¬ 
ties, from which we wish to extricate ourselves ; an enemy 
tries to do us harm, and we wish to guard ourselves suc¬ 
cessfully against his attacks ; intrigues are carried on 
against us, and we wish to defeat them ; we are execut¬ 
ing a work of -art by which we hope to acquire fame ; we 
are working out a new political system, a new system of 
administration, or of political economy; or we propose 
to ourselves to demolish existing institutions, which we 
believe to be injurious to the public welfare. Such are 
what we call secondary ends. 

At first sight it would seem impossible for a man to act, 
without having a clear, well-defined object in view. Ex¬ 
perience, however, teaches that such is not always the 
case ; for there are many, very many men, even amongst 
the most active and energetic, who act merely at ran¬ 
dom, and who, if questioned, would perhaps be unable 
to assign a satisfactory reason for what they do. 

We very frequently give men credit for much more abi¬ 
lity and genius than they really posssess. When, either 
on account of their fame or on account of the deeds they 
have accomplished, they are elevated to positions of 
great eminence, we are easily led to suppose that they 
are persons of a consistent character, who never act with¬ 
out mature deliberation, and without having well con¬ 
sidered the end to be attained, the means to attain it, and 
the obstacles that may be in their way. How great is 
our delusion ! Man, in all the circumstances of his 
life, is simply man, subject to all the weaknesses that are 
inseparable from poor humanity. His knowledge of 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


231 


himself and of his own abilitities is very imperfect; fre¬ 
quently he attributes to himself qualities which he pos¬ 
sesses not, and imagines himself unable to do what in 
reality he could easily accomplish. Confused and, as 
it were, bewildered with perplexing doubts, he often 
knows not whither he is going or whither he should go, 
and what is yet more to be wondered at, he very often 
does not even know what conduces to his own welfare; 
his doubts about his own strength are only rendered 
more perplexing by the fact that he understands not his 
own interests. 

§ 3 . EXAMINATION OF THE SAYING I “EVERY MAN IS A 
CHILD OF HIS OWN ACTIONS. ” 

It is said that our own particular interests are a safe 
rule of conduct, and that in regard* to them we can hard¬ 
ly ever be mistaken. This is not true. On this, as well 
as on any other point, we are liable to make blnnders, 
and sad experience tells us that we have not unfrequently 
been the direct cause of our own miseries. The pro¬ 
verb “that a man is the child of his own doings ” holds 
good in all that regards either happiness or misfortunes. 
Neither in the political, nor in the moral world, is there 
such a thing as chance. Owing to the instability of all 
things human, unforeseen events will often disconcert 
the best arranged plans ; our most assiduous efforts are 
crowned with no success; or the advantages accruing 
from them are enjoyed by others who have done little or 
nothing to deserve them ; yet it is very certain that this 
does not happen as frequently as is generally supposed. 
A diligent study of man and things would often lead us 


232 


CRITERION. 


to change the opinions we had hastily formed about the 
causes from which good or bad fortune proceeds. 

We seldom, if ever, meet with an unfortunate man 
who is ready to acknowledge that the cause of his misfor¬ 
tune lies in himself. Yet, if we analyze closely his genius, 
character, habits, his way of looking at things, of manag¬ 
ing affairs ; if we pay sharp attention to his conversation, 
his habits in society, to the relations in which he stands 
to his friends or his family, we will generally discover, if 
not all, at least some of the causes that lie at the bottom 
of his misfortunes. The errors into which we fall in 
judging matters of this sort proceed from the fact that 
we fix our whole attention on one event only ; to it alone 
we attribute whatever misfortune has befallen us, whilst 
we ought to reflect that it is only a single link in the 
chain of events that has led to our misfortune, and that 
it alone could not have affected us so seriously, had we 
ourselves not committed some blunders previously, or 
had we not been in a condition that seemed to invite the 
misfortune. 

Good or bad fortune is seldom the effect of one cause 
alone ; several causes, among which there may not even 
exist a single point of resemblance, ordinarily concur to¬ 
gether. But as it is not easy to follow up the thread of 
events, or to see clearly into their manifold complications, 
we sometimes imagine that which merely gave occasion 
to an event to be its principal, or even its only cause. 

§4. THE HATED MAN. 

Here is a man who is treated with cold indifference by 
those who formerly honored him with their sincerest 
friendship ; his relatives -disown him ; he nowhere finds 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 233 

a heart that feels any sympathy for him. If you hear 
him talk you would imagine that the cause of his misery 
lies in the injustice of men ; envy is wounded by his bril¬ 
liant merits, a miserable egotism is ready to ignore all 
the ties of blood, of friendship, of gratitude. In short, 
the unhappy man seems to be a poor, helpless victim, 
which society has resolved to crush, lest it should be com¬ 
pelled to do justice to his exalted merits, to his noble 
virtues, to his charming gifts of mind and heart Is there 
any truth in what he tells you ? Perhaps the short con¬ 
versation you have with him is sufficiently long to con¬ 
vince you of the groundlessness of his complaints. It 
betrays to you a man who is disgustingly puffed up with 
self-conceit; whose bearing is insupportable, whose man¬ 
ners are uncouth, whose petulance is intolerable. He is 
an object of hatred to some, of contempt to others ; 
his ugly character has brought him to that wretched 
state of isolation of which he unjustly complains. Who 
is to blame ? 

§ 5 . FINANCIAL RUIN. 

Have you ever heard any man attribute his financial 
ruin to his own excessive goodness of heart, to the infi¬ 
delity of a friend, or to an unfortunate catastrophe which 
stepped in between him and some magnificent project 
which he intended to carry out ? Well, if you will take 
the pains to gather information about his conduct, per¬ 
haps you will find that the causes of his ruin are not ex¬ 
actly those which he assigns. 

Surely, the infidelity of a friend or a sudden catastrophe 
may be the cause of a man’s ruin ; excessive goodness of 
heart, generous confidence in others, may induce him to 


234 


CRITERION. 


pay no attention to those ordinary laws of prudence which 
no business man should overlook. The man may, there¬ 
fore, have spoken the truth when he attributed his mis¬ 
fortune to these causes ; yet it may be that in the course 
of conversation he will reveal to you other causes, very 
different from these, that will account more satisfactorily 
for his financial embarrassment. His knowledge of busi¬ 
ness matters is very superficial; he forms his opinions 
hastily, without ever investigating the affair in question 
in all its bearings; he has unlimited confidence in his 
own ability to decide matters ; he considers it beneath 
his dignity to ask the advice of others, or to listen to it 
when it is given ; he is very prone to conceive and exe¬ 
cute hazardous projects ; in conversation he is ambiguous 
and betrays somewhat of a sophistical propensity. These 
and similiar facts may sufficiently explain to you the di¬ 
rect causes of his ruin ; it may not be necessary to ac¬ 
count for it by his excessive goodness of heart, the infi¬ 
delity of a friend, or some sudden accident that has oc¬ 
curred. The accident may have been the legitimate 
result of a chain of causes that had existed for a long 
time previously ; the infidelity of the friend might easily 
have been foreseen ; its fatal consequences might, and 
would have been averted, if he had been more prudent in 
bestowing his confidence and observing the use that was 
made of it. 

§ 6. THE LEARNED BEGGAR AND THE IGNORANT MILLION¬ 
AIRE. 

Here is a man who is highly educated ; his judgment 
is solid and penetrating, he is a remarkably shrewd ob¬ 
server of persons and things ; yet, not only has he not 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 235 

been able to better his condition in life, but he has even 
lost what little he possessed, and is reduced to absolute 
want. His neighbor is a man who possesses no talent; 
he knows nothing about shrewd business speculations, he 
is simply an ignorant sort of a fellow; yet he possesses 
immense wealth, and revels in luxury. Must it not have 
been chance, dire fatality, that directed the fate of these 
two men ? A superficial thinker would at once arrive at 
this conclusion, without reflecting that there is here a 
miserable confusion of ideas, and that he takes for 
granted a mutual relation between effects and causes, 
that have nothing whatever to do with each other. 

. It is true that the first man is energetic, shrewd, and 
endowed with solid judgment; it is equally true that the 
second lacks these qualities, that he is an uneducated, 
cowardly, and apparently good-for-nothing sort of a fellow, 
but it is well known that wealth is not necessarily the in¬ 
separable companion of learning and sound judgment. 
Surely, if these two men were to appear in society, the 
first would show off to infinitely greater advantage than 
the second ; his conversation would be exceedingly inter¬ 
esting, his ideas would be elevated and well conceived, 
his language would be select and fluent, his remarks 
would be pointed, and his answers prompt and perfectly 
satisfactory ; the ignorant rich man would probably not 
understand one jot of the merit of the conversation, he 
probably has never even heard the name of this or that 
novelist or dramatic writer mentioned ; history is to him 
an unexplored region, he knows nothing about politics, 
nor is he at all anxious to trouble his head about them ; 
of languages he knows only the one he learned from his 
mother, and he is very far from knowing even that one 


236 


CRITERION. 


grammatically; the conversation of the learned man fills 
him with amazement, he cannot conceive how one small 
head can contain so much knowledge. But does this 
ignorance prevent him from giving shrewd business 
orders ? No. When, therefore, we express surprise at 
the fact, that fortune has not favored the learned man 
more than it has, we pass from one order of things to 
another, we attribute effects to causes that have nothing 
whatever to do with them. 

Observe attentively these two men, whose fortunes 
differ so widely ; observe the qualities of the one and the 
other, place them in circumstances where they must de¬ 
cide on an affair of business, and you will not find it 
difficult to understand that the poverty of the one and 
the wealth of the other proceed from causes that are 
purely natural. 

The learned man talks, writes, calculates his chances, 
conceives magnificent projects, forms vast designs, studies 
them in their minutest details, takes all possibilities into 
rigorous calculation, clearly sees the advantages to be 
gained, the inconveniences that might be incurred, the 
grounds on which he can base his hopes, the means that 
may render success doubtful ; in short, he has looked at 
the matter from every conceivable point of view, nothing 
now remains to be said about it. And what does the ig¬ 
norant man do ? Does he enter on debate with his adver¬ 
sary ? No. Does he dispute the calculations which the 
other has so nicely made ? No. Does he solve the ob¬ 
jections advanced by the learned scholar to his own views ? 
No. Does he bring out an array of learned arguments 
in support of his views ? No. Does he, to obtain his 
end, form any vast, complicated designs ? No. What 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 237 

then, does he do, tormented, refuted, completely cor¬ 
nered as he is by his learned antagonist: 

“ What have you to oppose to this,” says the man of 
magnificent schemes. 

“Nothing . . . but . . . 

“ Do you admit that my reasons are conclusive ?” 

‘ ‘ I don’t see it quite clearly. ” 

‘ ‘ Let us see. Perhaps you are not satisfied with my 
calculations, it is merely a question of numbers . . see 
how it all agrees ...” 

“Yes, I see that it goes very well on your paper, but 
I am not sure that we will come out of it so nicely. 
When we go to work, you take many things into account, 
about which I know nothing, but I have seen so much 
of business transactions, that ...” 

“But do you doubt of the statements that have been 
furnished ? What interest could the men have had in 
deceiving us ? If we shall lose in the transaction, we 
will not be the sole losers, they will share the loss with 
us. They are honorable gentlemen, men of ability, pos¬ 
sess vast experience in business, and they cannot be actu¬ 
ated by motives of interest. What more can you desire ? 
Why then hesitate ?” 

“ I do not doubt of anything. I readily believe all you 
tell me about those gentlemen. But . . . well, the af¬ 
fair don’t please me Besides ‘ there is many a slip be¬ 
tween the cup and the lip.’ ” 

“But what slips, my dear sir? If we are afraid of a 
simple ‘ may be’ we will never do anything. There is 
more or less of risk in every business transaction. But, 

I repeat, I do not see the slightest probability of incurring 
any risk whatever in this affair .... You know more 


238 


CRITERION. 


than I do, says the ignorant man, slightly shrugging his 
shoulders, and sagely shaking his head he finishes up by 
a positive : ‘ No sir, I cannot do it. I repeat it, the affair 
does not please me, it looks suspicious. I don’t wish to 
have anything to do with it. You say that it is an excel¬ 
lent speculation, I hope it will turn out so to you. We 
shall see. But I will not risk my funds in it.’ ” Who has 
the advantage in the discussion ? Is it the man of learned 
projects ? Time will tell. The rich man is apparently a 
simpleton; he does not see as far as his antagonist, but 
a sort of natural instinct leads him to see more clearly, 
what is to the point, and he chooses the safer side. He 
is not able to oppose statement \o statement, reflection 
to reflection, calculation to calculation ; but his natural 
discernment, improved by long experience, tells him very 
clearly that those statements are partly fictitious, that the 
calculation is not clearly exact, that important contin¬ 
gencies which may easily take place, have been entirely 
overlooked. He is not quite sure of the good faith of 
some who are concerned in the speculation, and the ex¬ 
perience he has acquired in transacting bushtess, prevents 
him from blindly believing in the abilities and honesty 
of others, especially when their personal interests are at 
stake. 

What matters it to him, that he does not see as much 
as his learned antagonist, so long as he sees all that is of 
importance for himself? He cannot give expression to 
his few ideas in words of learned length and harmonious 
sound; but here there is question of money, and' the 
learned man is a poor financier. 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


239 


§ 7. OBSERVATIONS-SOPHISTRY AND GOOD SENSE. 

Vivacity of intellect does not imply depth of penetra¬ 
tion ; an abundance of ideas does not prove clearness or 
exactness of thought; quickness of judgment is often sus¬ 
pected of error ; a long series of arguments, ingeniously 
worked out, smacks of a sophistical spirit, which aims at 
destroying the thread of the inference, in order to lead the 
unsophisticated mind astray. It is not always an easy task 
to point out these defects precisely ; especially when the 
person subject to them is a brilliant, eloquent speaker, 
who gives expression to his ideas in a torrent of well 
selected, elegant language. Human reason is naturally 
inclined to be captious ; there are, moreover, men who 
possess such a terrible facility for imposing on others, by 
presenting objects from points of view best suited to their 
own purposes, that it not rarely happens, that experience, 
sound judgment, and the finest discrimination, are unable 
to point out the delusion, and can oppose no other an¬ 
swer than : ‘ This cannot be so, this reasoning must be 
defective, there is a delusion somewhere, time will show it/ 

The reason of this lies in the fact that some things are 
more easily felt than known, and that others again are 
seen, but not proved. There are delicate phenomena, 
there are almost imperceptible minutiae, that cannot be 
demonstrated by any process of reasoning to one that has 
not seen them himself. There are fleeting moments in 
which we can see certain objects; if we miss these mo¬ 
ments, it will be impossible for us ever to see them again. 


240 CRITERION. 

§ 8. DELICACY OF SOME INTELLECTUAL PHENOMENA—THEIR 
INFLUENCE ON OUR CONDUCT. 

In the exercise of our intelligence, as well as of every 
other one of our faculties, we find phenomena that can¬ 
not be expressed by any word or phrase selected at ran¬ 
dom, nor by any indiscriminate process of reasoning ; to 
understand him who has experienced them, you must 
experience them yourself, it would be a mere loss of time 
to attempt to explain them ; you might as well attempt 
to explain the nature of colors to a man, who has been 
blind from his birth. Delicate phenomena like these 
* abound in all the acts of our intelligence, but they occur 
especially in those acts that influence our conduct. Here 
the mind cannot indulge in vain abstractions ; it cannot 
form fictitious systems that are purely conventional; we 
must take things, not as we imagine or desire them to be, 
but as they really are in themselves ; otherwise, in the 
transition from the ideal to the objective reality, we will 
find a discrepancy existing between the two, and thus all 
our plans will be disconcerted. It should be observed, 
moreover, that when there is question of man’s conduct, 
and especially of the relations that may exist between one 
man and another, it is not the intellect alone that works, 
but all our other faculties are likewise exercised. There 
is here a reciprocal action, not only between two intel¬ 
lects, but likewise between two hearts; they are not ideas 
only, but sentiments likewise, that mutually act on each 
other. 

§ 9. BLUNDERS. 

When a man who is endowed with superior intellectual 
abilities,is in company with others whose talents are in- 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


241 


ferior to his, he finds himself in about the same condi¬ 
tion in which he, who has all his senses perfectly devel¬ 
oped, finds himself when he is with persons that are de¬ 
prived of the full use of one or other of their senses. 
This remark, if borne in mind, would often save us much 
time and fatigue, and, perhaps, even unpleasantness, in 
our intercourse with our fellow-men. Men often make 
themselves ridiculous by their foolish attempts to correct 
the erroneous views of others, or to make them compre¬ 
hend some truth of which they have no idea. People 
sometirpes assert the most glaring absurdities with the ut¬ 
most confidence in the soundness of their assertions 

A man of good sense is shocked by such miserable 
nonsense ; he enters into the discussion, grows warm 
over it, and exhausts the whole stock of his learning, in 
order to convince the man of the folly of his assertions. 
Yet he is not convinced, but continues to defend his own 
point even with vigor. The arguments of his adversary 
do not make him cede one inch of the position he holds. 
Why is this so ? Is the man devoid of all knowledge ? 
No, but on the point in question he lacks ordinary com¬ 
mon sense. Either his natural disposition, or force of 
habit, has brought him to this state of mind. Whoever 
attempts to refute him ought to reflect that a man who is 
able seriously to assert such absurdities is not likely to be 
affected by any arguments that could be brought against 
him. 

§ IO. EXTRAVAGANT INTELLECTS. 

The intellects of some men seem to be defective by 
nature, for they invariably look at things from a wrong 
point of view. They cannot be regarded as maniacs, for 


242 


CRITERION. 


they enjoy the use of their reason. They are generally 
remarkable for their unbearable loquacity, an effect of 
the facility with which they amass arguments on every 
subject of which they take hold. They scarcely ever 
form correct judgments on any subject, and if sometimes 
they reason like sensible men, it will not be long before 
they will get off the track again. Frequently in their 
reasoning they see a beautiful perspective, which they be¬ 
lieve to be a real, solid edifice, and this happens because 
they take for granted a fact that is uncertain, doubtful, 
inexact or entirely false ; they assume as a self-evident 
principle a gratuitous proposition, or as a reality, that 
which is merely a hypothesis ; and so they build up a cas¬ 
tle which would be gorgeous had it not the slight defect 
of being a castle built in the air. Impetuous, inconside¬ 
rate by nature, unaccustomed to pay any attention to 
what they hear from others, having no other guide than 
their own extravagant reason, carried away by their fool¬ 
ish ideas, and by an insatiable desire of chatting eternally, 
they forget the point from which they started and do not 
perceive that they are merely raising a fantastical struc¬ 
ture that has no foundation whatever. 

§ 11 . UNFITNESS OF SUCH MEN FOR BUSINESS. 

There are no worse business men than these ; unfor¬ 
tunate is the affair of which they take hold, and still 
more unfortunate are they themselves if, in their under¬ 
takings, they are thrown exclusively on their own re¬ 
sources. Maturity of judgment and good business tact 
are the best endowments of the practical intellect; of 
these they are deprived. When we have to deal with stern 
realities we must take them as they are in themselves, not 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


243 


as they exist in our ideas, and these men know nothing 
about the real nature of things, but are ever led astray by 
their ideas. It may be well enough to consider what things 
might or could be, but it is of greater importance to con¬ 
sider what they are, and this is not understood by the 
men of whom we speak. When a man of clear views and 
sound judgment has to deal with these men, he finds him¬ 
self in the greatest perplexity. What seems clear to him 
seems obscure to them ; what he considers to be beyond 
all doubt is by them disputed. The judicious man looks 
at a question in a manner that seems to him sound and 
rational, the captious man looks at it in a quite different 
manner. You seem to have before you two men, of 
whom one is affected by a sort of intellectual strabism 
which confuses and disconcerts him who sees correctly. 

§ 12. THESE DEFECTS ORDINARILY PROCEED FROM A MORAL 
CAUSE. 

If we would discover the cause of such aberrations we 
should seek it in the heart rather than in the mind. The 
men we have described are generally excessively vain ; a 
wrongly directed self-love inspires them with the desire 
of being singular in everything, and thus by degrees they 
contract the habit of contradicting everybody an^placing 
themselves in opposition to common sense. * That the 
desire converted into the habit of being singular in every¬ 
thing is, more than anything else, the cause of their ex¬ 
travagances, is proved from the fact that they are ever re¬ 
markable for a systematic spirit of opposition to every¬ 
body. If the defect lay in the head there would be no 
conceivable reason to explain the fact that they will in¬ 
variably deny what others affirm, and affirm what others 


244 


CRITERION. 


deny ; neither could it be explained how it happens that 
the surest method of teaching such persons the truth is 
to deny it flatly. 

I admit that these persons frequently do not advert to 
what they do ; they are not fully aware of the fact that 
an intolerable spirit of vanity directs them in all their do¬ 
ings, and makes them miserable slaves, nevertheless this 
spirit exists. If it has not developed itself to its last ex¬ 
treme it may yet be remedied ; the kind admonitions 
of a well-meaning friend might produce good results, es¬ 
pecially if, either on account of his age or his social posi¬ 
tion, he might take the liberty of talking to them about it. 
Occasions for doing this with some prospect of success 
will frequently present themselves, for those who are sub¬ 
ject to these disagreeable faults often come to serious 
trouble on account of their ugly dispositions. Anguish 
and sorrow will be the natural consequence, and when 
they are in this state of distress they are generally more 
or less disposed to listen to wise and charitable counsel. 
Yet it may happen that even cruel realities will fail to 
disabuse them of their error; that, in spite of their own 
sad experience and the kind advice of friends, they re¬ 
main obstinate. When such is the case, then fold your 
arms, keep quiet, and suffer with stoical indifference 
their mad eccentricities and their stupid folly. It may 
be that by acting thus you will effect some good ; the 
most disputatious character will behave like a man when 
there is nobody that minds him ; he will not defend him¬ 
self when nobody cares about attacking him ; he will not 
contradict anybody when there is nobody that will speak 
with him ; treat him thus and his contemptible ardor 
will cool down considerably. He will annoy you by his 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


245 


interminable loquacity, but the cutting rebuke you have 
given him by your silence,will perhaps make him enter 
into himself; he will see the absurdity of his conduct and 
feel ashamed of himself; perhaps he will even go so far 
as to apologize for his imprudent behavior towards you. 
He is a restless, turbulent spirit, that lives on the food of 
contradiction ; you will quiet him by refusing to oppose 
him, and allowing him to abound at pleasure in his own 
absurd sense. Let him be ever so eager to fight against 
an enemy who stoutly opposes him, he will yet allow you 
to possess your soul in peace, when he sees that you treat 
him with silent contempt. 

§ 13. CHRISTIAN HUMILITY IN ITS RELATIONS TO WORLDLY 
AFFAIRS. 

Christian humility teaches us the limits of our own 
strength, it reveals to us our defects ; it prevents us from 
exaggerating our own merits, and from elevating our¬ 
selves above others ; it forbids us to look down with con¬ 
tempt on anybody ; it tells us that we can learn much 
from the conduct and counsels of others, even if they are 
our inferiors; it tells us that it is a miserable weakness, 
of which a sensible man should be ashamed, to seek for 
applause, or to take vain complacency in it, when it is be¬ 
stowed ; it will not allow us to believe, that we unite in 
ourselves all moral or physical excellences, or that, we 
have reached the very climax of perfection ; it, on the 
contrary, forces us to acknowledge, that we are by no 
means as perfect as we might be, that we have yet a long 
way to travel, before we will arrive at the terminus, where 
we can sit down and rest and say that our work is done 
and done well. This is what Christian humility does for 


246 


CRITERION. 


11s. In itself considered, it is simply truth, truth applied 
to the knowledge of ourselves, of our relations towards 
God and our fellow man ; it is truth pointing out to us 
the path of morality in which we must walk, and prevent¬ 
ing our self-love from leading us astray. It is easy to 
perceive that in practical life, even in worldly affairs, this 
virtue of humility is of the greatest advantage to us. It 
requires some sacrifices from us, but in exchange, it gives 
us magnificent advantages, even in things that are most 
remote from devotion. The proud man pays dearly for 
the luxury of being proud, he does not consider that the 
victims which he sacrifices to the idol of pride, which he 
has placed on the altar of his heart, are his own dearest 
interests, and frequently even that glory itself, of which 
he is so very ambitious. 

§ 14. EVILS CAUSED BY VANITY AND PRIDE. 

How many men are there not, who injure, or even com¬ 
pletely ruin their reputation by their excessive vanity ! 
How completely does not the delusion, which a great 
name inspires, vanish, when, on meeting the man, you 
observe that he is ever engaged in sounding the trumpet 
of his own praises! How many men are there not, who 
completely obscure their own glory, by assuming a tone 
of haughty superiority, which causes disgust, gives offence, 
or draws on itself the sharp arrows of satire! How 
many are there not, that launch out on dangerous seas, 
engage in disastrous enterprises, bring upon themselves 
confusion ’ and financial ruin, simply because they were 
obstinately bent on their own views, relied with implicit 
confidence on their own unquestionable abilities, and 
refused to take the hints, or listen to the counsels of 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


247 


men wiser than themselves ; but on whom they looked 
down from their lofty eminence with haughty disdain, 
even as the immortal gods that dwell in the empyrean, 
look down with disdain on the poor ignorant mortals 
that inhabit these lower regions. 

And why should they listen to the counsels of anybody ? 
Their own unerring understanding, the solidity of their 
judgment, the clearness of their foresight, the shrewd¬ 
ness of their combinations, are they not proverbial? 
What enterprise ever failed, in which they took part? 
And who was it that brought it to a happy termination ? 
Who was it that made difficulties vanish, if not they? If 
the affair did not turn out a complete failure, was it not 
because they came in at the opportune moment, and pre¬ 
vented the others from madly rushing into ruin ? What 
important project was ever conceived, of which they were 
not the originators? And if others ever conceived any 
plan, was it not they that had to modify it, correct it, and 
improve on it, so as to render its execution possible and 
desirable ? 

Look at the proud man ! He carries his head haugh¬ 
tily erect, and seems to bid defiance to heaven itself; his 
look is imperious and exacts submission ; whoever ap¬ 
proaches him, is received with a smile of proud disdain ; 
his every feature betrays a man that takes infinite compla¬ 
cency in himself, a man that is brimful of himself; the 
excessive affectation of his gestures and manners tells you 
at once that he is a man ridiculously puffed up with self- 
conceit. If he opens his mouth to speak, you must be 
content to observe a respectful silence'; if you venture to 
say a word in reply, he will continue his discourse, and 
take no notice of what you say ; a significant glance will 


248 


CRITERION. 


tell you that it belongs to you to be silent, and to listen 
attentively to what he has to say. Tired of talking, he 
at last ends his discourse ; you avail yourself of the mo¬ 
ment to express what you had intended to say before. 
Vain attempt ! The demi-god will not pay the slightest 
attention to your words ; he interrupts you unceremoni¬ 
ously by turning to others, or it may be, that he will be 
absorbed in profound meditation, preparing himself to 
deliver with solemn gravity the magnificent oracles that 
have been revealed to his own privileged soul. 

A man thus disposed, will be very liable to commit 
grave mistakes ; yet it cannot be denied that the number 
of such men is not small, though they may not perhaps 
carry their folly to such absurd extremes. Unhappy is 
the man who has not from his early youth accustomed 
himself to be„.deaf'to flattery, and to attribute to the 
praises he receives their just value ; unhappy is the 
man, who does not occasionally enter into himself, and 
scrutinize closely his own interior, in order to see whether 
it may not be that self-conceit blinds his intellect, that 
vanity renders him ridiculous, that an excessive confidence 
in his own views leads him astray. Years will pass on ; he 
will arrive at the age of maturity; he will hold an inde¬ 
pendent position in society; he will,either deservedly or 
otherwise,acquire a certain reputation ; he will be placed 
in authority; inferiors will do him homage ; applause and 
flattery will not be wanting ; his friends will be less candid 
and sincere. Such being the case, how great will not his 
danger be if he allows the spirit of pride to domineer 
over him, if he has not accustomed himself to check it 
in time ? Intellectual blindness will prevent him from 
seeing the dangers of the path in which he walks; self- 



THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


249 


love and self-conceit will develop themselves to a deplor¬ 
able degree, and will gradually degenerate into a sort of 
idolatry that is best expressed by the fatal words : worship 
of self. 


§ 15. PRIDE. 

Pride, the most dangerous offspring of self-love, does 
not always exhibit itself under the same forms. In men 
of strong temper and acute intellect, it is self-conceit; 
in weak-minded men it clothes itself in the garb of van¬ 
ity. Both classes of men have the same object in view, 
but use different means to attain it. A proud man who 
is not vain, has the external appearance of virtue, whilst 
the vain man unconsciously betrays his weaknesses. Flat¬ 
ter the proud man, and he will reject your praises, for he 
will be afraid that he would injure his reputation by mak¬ 
ing himself ridiculous ; you may truly say of him that 
he is too proud to be vain. In his innermost soul he 
feels gratified at the praises bestowed on him, but motives 
of prudence induce him to conceal liis gratification. He 
is, as it were, a deity that loves gorgeous temples and 
pompous worship, but keeps himself concealed in the 
mysterious obscurity of the sanctuary. 

His conduct is undoubtedly very offensive in the sight 
of God ; yet it generally prevents him from making him¬ 
self ridiculous before men. I say “ generally,” for how¬ 
ever great may be a man’s precaution, pride will yet oc¬ 
casionally degenerate into vanity, and thus make itself 
known. The unnatural violence which the proud man 
does to himself, cannot continue for any great length of 
time ; in spite of his best efforts, he will sooner or later 
show himself in his true character. To take pleasure in 



250 


CRITERION. 


praise and yet to show displeasure at it ; to regard glory 
as the chief end of our existence, and yet to be appar¬ 
ently indifferent about it, is carrying feigning too far en¬ 
tirely ; however studiously we may strive to conceal our 
real character, it will yet discover itself at times. The 
proud man, whom I have hitherto described, could not 
properly be called vain, yet even vanity itself does not 
inspire the feelings which the conduct of the proud man 
inspires, for he not only provokes your anger, but like¬ 
wise causes you to despise him. 

§ 16. VANITY. 

The man who is merely vain does not exactly provoke 
your anger; you rather regard him with feelings of com¬ 
passion, though you may at times point at him the pierc¬ 
ing arrows of merciless satire. He does not despise other 
men ; he rather respects, admires or even fears them. 
He is tormented by an insatiable thirst for praise. He is 
not satisfied at knowing that others have spoken highly 
of him, he must hear them himself in order to assure 
himself that it is so. He feels an intense satisfaction in 
the praises bestowed ; his innocent smile, his beaming 
countenance, express the overflowing happiness of his 
soul as well as his sincere gratitude to those good souls 
who have so generously acknowledged his superior ex¬ 
cellence. Has success crowned any one of his efforts ? 
For pity’s sake speak to him about it, do not compel him 
to endure dreadful agonies. Do you not see with what 
restless anxiety he desires to make the conversation turn 
on the subject of his merits ? Why will you be so cruel 
as to pretend that you do not notice the repeated hints 
which he gives you ? Why will you force him to violate 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


251 


the ordinary rules of politeness by introducing the sub¬ 
ject himself when you could do it so easily, to his infinite 
satisfaction ? What exquisite pleasure does not the vain 
man experience when he discovers that what he has said, 
written, or done, is duly appreciated by others ? With 
what infinite satisfaction does he not inform you of the 
important fact, that his success was entirely owing to a 
happy inspiration of the moment, to a brilliant idea that 
flashed on his mind, since he had had no time to think 
over the matter ? What glorious success is not this ? Be, 
then, generous, be a gentleman, do not introduce into 
the conversation subjects that bear not on his succsss ; let 
him gaze leisurely on the magnificent scenes that enrap¬ 
ture his soul. The vain man is not actuated by that Sa¬ 
tanic spirit of haughty superiority which renders the con¬ 
duct of the proud man so offensive. He is a stranger to 
hypocrisy ; his very features speak to you of the candor 
of his soul; his physiognomy is calm and placid, his 
look is sweet and pleasant, his manners are engaging, 
his whole deportment is that of a man who is ever afraid, 
lest by any word or deed he should obscure his own 
glory and spoil his supreme felicity. He is not cruel by 
nature, nor is he excessively pretentious ; selfishness is 
not one of his ordinary faults, for he will not generally be 
angry if others are praised ; all he asks is to be permitted 
to share the praise. 

With what ingenious complacence does he not recount 
to you his enterprises, his encounters, his interesting ad¬ 
ventures ? In himself he finds inexhaustible matter for 
conversation ; in fact, he imagines that his life furnishes 
him a magnificent epopee. The most insignificant ac¬ 
tions are regarded by him as episodes of the highest in- 


252 


CRITERION. 


terests; vulgarity of conduct is the effect of genius ; ef¬ 
fects that happened most naturally are looked upon by 
him as the result of stupendous combinations. All things 
converge towards him. Even the history of his country 
is simply a drama of which he is the hero ; in short, 
everything in which he is not concerned is insipid, and 
of no importance whatever. 

§ 17. IN PRACTICAL LIFE THE EVILS OF PRIDE ARE GREATER 
THAN THOSE OF VANITY. 

Although vanity renders a man more ridiculous than 
pride does, yet it is very certain that in practical life pride 
is more pernicious than vanity. As vanity is rather a com¬ 
placency in praises bestowed on us than a haughty feel¬ 
ing of superiority, its influence on the intellect is less 
damaging. 

They who are subject to vanity are generally men of 
weak mind, as is abundantly proved from the facility with 
which tHey are carried away by their inclination to be vain. 
Hence, they do not ordinarily reject the counsels of others 
as proud men do; they frequently even ask advice. 
They have not a sufficient amount of self-conceit to make 
them despise whatever comes from others, and they know, 
moreover, that it is in their power to improve on the ad¬ 
vice received, to identify it with their own views, and 
thus to insure for themselves whatever success or glory 
may result from its adoption. Or is it perhaps a small 
matter to be able to recount to others how carefully you 
had reflected on the affair which you have just brought 
to a happy conclusion ? How clearly you had foreseen 
the difficulties of the undertaking, with what skill you 
proceeded in overcoming them, with what prudence you 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


253 


sought the advice of intelligent persons, how your own 
ideas coincided with their views, and how many happy 
suggestions you yourself made which had escaped their 
notice ? Surely, vanity finds here abundant food by which 
it can nourish itself. 

§ l8. PRIDE CONTRASTED WITH VANITY. 

Pride naturally implies malice, whilst vanity rather be¬ 
trays weakness ; the proud man provokes you, whilst the 
vain man rather excites your pity; pride causes a man to 
commit great crimes, vanity causes him to fall into ridicu¬ 
lous follies ; the proud man has a strong sense of his own 
superiority and independence, the vain man frequently has 
great diffidence in himself, and is ridiculously humble ; 
pride contracts the elasticity of the soul, vanity develops 
it ; pride is violent, vanity is mild ; the proud man seeks 
glory, but he seeks it with an air of dignity and haughti¬ 
ness, without degrading himself; the vain man, too, seeks 
glory, but his passion for it is languid, weak, condescend¬ 
ing ; it is the effeminacy of pride. Vanity is found more 
frequently in woman than in man ; man is naturally more 
inclined to pride than woman, and, for the same reason, 
children are rather vain than proud ; pride develops it¬ 
self in maturer years. But, though pride and vanity are 
distinct from each other in theory, yet in real life it is 
not always easy to draw the line that will clearly separate 
one from the other. In fact, the two passions often re¬ 
side in the same heart; each one has its own epochs, days, 
hours and moments, in which it reveals itself. It is very 
difficult to draw a line that will perfectly separate the two; 
each one has its own gradations, its degrees of develop¬ 
ment, and though one often touches on the confines of the 


254 


CRITERION. 


other, yet even with a most thorough knowledge of the 
human heart, its delicate and complicated fibres and 
their workings, it is frequently impossible to point out 
precisely when this is the case. It might in truth be said, 
that pride and vanity are the same thing, presenting it¬ 
self under different forms; that they are the same picture 
presenting different shades of color, according to the dif¬ 
ferent modes in which it receives the light. The differ¬ 
ence between the two is rather a difference of degree than 
of kind ; the one and the other reveal an immoderate 
self-love. The proud man makes himself the object of 
his own worship, the vain man does the same ; in one 
case the idol is concealed under heavy veils, in the other 
it shows itself with smiling features ; but in each case, the 
idol is the same. He that erects in his heart an altar to 
himself, offers incense to himself, and desires that others 
should do the same. 

§ 19. HOW COMMON THE PASSION OF PRIDE IS AMONG MEN. 

We may say without fear of being contradicted, that 
no passion is so common among men as the one we here 
treat of. You will find few men, if any, who are not to 
some extent subject to it. Even they whose hearts are 
purified by the flames of celestial love, are not free from 
the danger of being affected by it. Pride blinds the ig¬ 
norant and the learned, the rich and the poor, the weak 
and the strong, the young and the old ; him on whom for¬ 
tune smiles, and him to whom it has refused its favors. 
The libertine submits to its dominion ; the man of austere 
habits is subject to its sway ; in the wide world it reigns 
supreme ; and even within the hallowed walls of the 
cloister it has its votaries. Here is a lady that dwells in 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


255 


superb palaces ; observe her and you will see that she 
takes pride in the nobility of her family, in the brilliancy 
of her talents, in her unrivalled beauty ; there is a lowly 
maiden who has exchanged an obscure cottage for the 
secluded convent; observe her and you will see, that 
though she has no human greatness to boast of, and no 
earthly prospect before her but that of an obscure grave, 
yet pride is not dead within her bosom. 

There are men for whom sensuality has no attrac¬ 
tions ; there are men who are free from avarice, envy, 
hatred, the desire of revenge; but you will not easily find 
a person that is entirely free from the passion of immo¬ 
derate self-love, which we call pride, or vanity, according 
to the different forms under which it exhibits itself. The 
learned man delights at hearing his prodigious learning 
celebrated ; the ignorant man takes pleasure in the events 
that have marked his career ; the avaricious man wonders 
at the splendid results of his own wise economy; the man 
who squanders away his property, boasts of his boundless 
generosity ; he that is light-headed, will assume a digni¬ 
fied air, and impose on you by his gravity ; the libertine 
will glory in his very disorders, whilst the man of austere 
habits is delighted at seeing that others notice his peni¬ 
tential rigors. Pride is more universal amongst men 
than any other vice ; if it is not checked by salutary re¬ 
straint, it becomes the most tyrannical passion that can 
domineer over us, and if you attempt to check it, it will 
have recourse to the most cunning devices in order to 
regain its ascendency over you. Oppose to it a certain 
firmness of character, a certain elevation of sentiments ; 
instead of submitting, it will turn back upon you, and 
cause you to take complacency in the heroic efforts which 



256 


CRITERION. 


you made to subjugate it. Christian humility is the only 
efficacious remedy to be applied to it, and Christian hu¬ 
mility itself may be made a cause of pride; it is an insi¬ 
dious reptile that loves to rest on your bosom ; if you 
cast it from you, it will crawl about your feet; if you tread 
on it, it will raise its head and thrust its poisonous fangs 
into you. 

§ 20 . NECESSITY OF STRUGGLING INCESSANTLY AGAINST THIS 
VICE. 

As pride is so dangerous an enemy of frail humanity, 
it follows that we must fight against it vigorously during 
all the days of our life. Now it is evident that we shall 
not do this, unless we keep a close watch over ourselves. 
By keeping our eyes constantly fixed on the evil, wiTwill 
not indeed succeed in eradicating it completely from our 
hearts, but we will prevent it from developing itself, and 
doing the mischief which it ordinarily causes when it is 
not checked in its course. A man who keeps pride under 
control, has done much towards regulating his conduct 
properly; he possesses a rare quality that will produce 
most excellent results ; his judgment will constantly grow 
more mature and perfect; his knowledge of men and 
things will daily become more exact, and he will imper¬ 
ceptibly grow in the esteem of others, for the less ambi¬ 
tious we are of glory, the more surely will we attain it. 

When we have removed the obstacles that hinder us 
from advancing, we will march on with ease ; and when 
the darkness that hinders us from seeing our way is dis¬ 
pelled, then we can go on without fear of going astray. 




THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


257 


§ 21 . IT IS NOT PRIDE ALONE THAT HINDERS US FROM PRO¬ 
POSING TO OURSELVES A PROPER END IN WHAT WE DO. 

He who would propose to himself a proper end in 
what he undertakes must, before all things, strive to un¬ 
derstand well his own position. I will repeat here what 
I have already said above, viz.: that some persons seem 
to act merely at random, without ever proposing to them¬ 
selves a determinate object, or considering the means that 
are best adapted to attain that object. In private,as well 
as in public life, it is difficult to understand well one’s 
proper position ; man is subject to a thousand illusions ; 
frequently he misunderstands his own strength and fails 
to perceive the most opportune moment for calling it into 
action. Vanity often makes us overrate our abilities ; but 
as the human heart is an abyss of contradictions,it hap¬ 
pens not unfrequently that pusillanimity makes us im¬ 
agine them to be more limited than they really are. Like 
those foolish men of old of whom Scripture makes men¬ 
tion, we attempt at times to build towers that will reach 
up to the very heavens, whilst at other times, through 
an excessive diffidence of our own strength we are satis¬ 
fied if we merely succeed in building a little hut. Like 
true children we at times imagine, that by ascending a 
neighboring hill,we can touch the heavens with our hands, 
whilst at other times we regard the stars that glitter at 
an immense distance in the highest part of the firmament, 
as simple passing exhalations of the sublunary atmos¬ 
phere. Perhaps we sometimes attempt more than we 
are able to accomplish, but it happens, too, that we could 
accomplish much more than we have courage to attempt. 

What criterion are we to adopt in cases like these ? It 


2 5 8 


CRITERION. 


is difficult to give a precise answer to this question. We 
might suggest some vague reflections, but the fact that 
man’s knowledge of himself is so very limited would 
prevent them from being of any considerable utility. It 
will perhaps be said that experience should be a safe 
guide in these circumstances ; we admit it, but we know 
that the progress by which experience is acquired is tedi¬ 
ously slow; a man often arrives at the terminus of his 
earthly sojourn before he is able to derive much advan¬ 
tage from the experience he has had. 

§2 2. DEVELOPMENT OF OUR HIDDEN FORCES. 

There exist in the spirit of man secret forces, of whose 
existence we may remain ignorant until some special cir¬ 
cumstance reveals them to us. A man may possess them 
without having the remotest suspicion of their presence ; 
he may go down into his grave without having ever 
known that he was the owner of so precious a treasure. 
It may happen that during the whole course of his life, 
not a single ray of light will ever fall upon the diamond 
that might have embellished a magnificent diadem. 

How often does not a scene we behold, a letter, a 
word, a mere hint, thrown out unintentionally it may be, 
give us mysterious inspirations and cause a revolution in 
our innermost being ! Now the soul is cold, hardened, 
inactive ; a moment passes, and a torrent of fiery activity 
gushes forth from her and makes her feel amazed at her¬ 
self. What has happened ? A small obstacle which ob¬ 
structed her contact with the open air has been removed ; 
the electric body has been touched and its fluid has com¬ 
municated itself in every direction with the rapidity of 
thought. 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


259 


Our spirit is developed and improved by intercourse 
with others, by reading, by travelling, by grand scenes 
which we witness. We may not receive much from be¬ 
ings outside of ourselves, but they often discover to us 
the pleasing fact that we have in our own interior an 
amount of native strength of which we were not aware 
before. What matters it to us if we have forgotten what 
we have seen, or heard, or read, if we only keep alive 
these hidden faculties which some fortunate encounter 
will reveal to us ? Let them only be aroused for once ; 
the fire that has been kindled will never be extinguished ; 
the flames may die out, but the fire will continue to burn 
until life is extinct. 

Moral and intellectual faculties are aroused in the same 
manner as passions. They sometimes lie dormant for 
a while in the soul; the inexperienced heart is absorbed 
in the placid slumber of innocence, its thoughts and de¬ 
sires are as pure as those of angelic spirits; its illusions 
are as candid as the flakes of snow that clothe the vast 
plain with the garb of innocence ; a moment passes, a 
mysterious veil seems to be removed, the life of inno¬ 
cence and placid tranquillity is over, the serene horizon 
of the soul is darkened; violent storms that agitate her 
in her innermost depths, burst forth on a sudden. How 
has this come to pass r It has all been caused by the 
reading of a dangerous book ; by an imprudent conver¬ 
sation ; by the presence of a seductive objecc. It is thus 
that the faculties of the soul are aroused and brought into 
action. She was created to be mysteriously united to the 
body, and to live in continual intercourse with beings 
similar to herself; hence it appears that some of her fa¬ 
culties are not exercised until they are acted upon by 


26 o 


CRITERION. 


agents distinct from herself. If we knew all the faculties 
with which the author of nature has endowed our being, 
we could easily call them into action by proposing to 
them the objects that naturally excite and develop them. 
But it often happens that we have already advanced far in 
the path of life, when we begin to know that we have cer¬ 
tain qualities in ourselves. The education we have re¬ 
ceived, the state of life we have embraced, will not allow 
us to return to the point from which we started, and to 
begin anew the journey of life. We must then be con¬ 
tent to take things as they are. If mistakes have been 
made, we must use our best efforts to prevent them from 
becoming fatal. We will probably never be what we 
might have been, but we are not therefore necessarily 
ruined. 

§ 23. IN PROPOSING AN END TO OURSELVES, W r E MUST BE 

ON OUR GUARD AGAINST PRESUMPTION, AND EXCESSIVE 

DIFFIDENCE OF OURSELVES. 

Whatever may be our career in life, our position in so¬ 
ciety, our talents, our inclinations or genius, we must al¬ 
ways carefully consult our reason, if we would prudently 
select an end to aim at and discover the best means for 
attaining it. The end must be proportioned to the means 
we possess, and these are our intellectual, moral and phy¬ 
sical faculties, and whatever other resources we may have 
at our command. If we aim at an end which is unat¬ 
tainable, we spend our forces uselessly ; if, on the other 
hand, either through excessive timidity, or a want of 
energy, we neglect to aspire to an end which is within 
our reach, then we weaken our powers by refusing to call 
them into exercise. 




THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


§ 24 . LAZINESS. 


26 l 


A truly prudent man will be rather inclined to diffi¬ 
dence than to presumption ; he will not therefore easily 
engage in arduous undertakings; yet it should not be 
forgotten, that by resisting the suggestions of pride and 
vanity, we may fall into an opposite fault. This resis¬ 
tance may degenerate into laziness. Pride is undoubtedly 
a bad counsellor, not only on account of the objects at 
which it makes us aim, but likewise on account of the 
dangerous means which it suggests to us. Yet pride may 
easily find a worthy rival in laziness. Man loves riches, 
glory, pleasures, but he shows, too, that he finds sweetness 
in doing nothing. Energy implies labor ; laziness gives 
repose. Man frequently sacrifices his honor and his gen¬ 
eral welfare to this repose. God understood human nature 
well, when he imposed toil on it as a penalty. To be 
obliged to eat his bread in the sweat of his brow, is a con¬ 
stant, and very frequently, a grievous torment to man. 


§ 25. AN ADVANTAGE WHICH LAZINESS HAS OVER THE 
OTHER PASSIONS. 

Laziness, or in other words, the passion of inertion, 
has one great advantage over the other passions, for it 
requires nothing of us. Its object is pure negation. If 
we would acquire an eminent position in society, we 
must arouse ourselves to great energy ; if we would ac¬ 
quire brilliant fame, we must present to society our titles 
to it; and these are not acquired without long and pain¬ 
ful efforts ; if we would amass great wealth, we must 
submit to constant and severe toil. Even the pleasures' 
of sense cost labor to him that would enjoy them, for he 


262 


CRITERION. 


must go in search of them, and study the means by which 
he can obtain them. In short, if we would attain the 
objects of all our other passions, we must make efforts of 
some kind ; laziness alone attains its object without mak¬ 
ing any effort whatever. The lazy man loves rather to 
sit than to stand ; he is happier when he is stretched on 
his couch, than when he sits in his chair, and in sleep he 
finds the whole fulness of blessedness. His whole ten¬ 
dency is to do “nothing” or at least nothing is its only 
limit; the nearer he approaches to it the greater is his 
happiness. 

§26. SOURCE OF LAZINESS. 

Laziness has its source in the very organism of our be¬ 
ing and in the manner in which its functions are exer¬ 
cised. Every act implies a consumption of force, there¬ 
fore it contains in itself a principle of lassitude, it entails 
suffering. Whilst the loss is insignificant, and only a 
sufficient time has passed to develop the action of the or¬ 
gans, suffering does not exist; we may even experience 
pleasure in acting, but the longer the action is continued, 
the greater the fatigue becomes. This is the reason why 
you will hardly ever find a lazy man that does not repeat¬ 
edly and willingly begin some work ; the efforts which he 
makes to arouse himself to action produce the sensation 
of lassitude in him sooner than they would produce it in 
another man ; hence he very easily accustoms himself to 
regard labor with aversion. 

§27. INTELLECTUAL SLOTH. 

As the intellect acts in union with the body, and is 
in many of its acts dependent on its cooperation, there 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 263 

may be intellectual as well as bodily sloth. Our spirit 
does not, properly speaking, feel fatigued. But the 
bodily organs suffer through its operations. The result, 
however, is the same for the spirit as for the body, for we 
find it sometimes as hard to induce ourselves to think or 
even to form a wish, as we find it, to undergo bodily labor 
or to submit to bodily fatigue. It should also be observed 
that these two sorts of sloth do not always exist simul¬ 
taneously ; one may very well exist without the other. 
Experience shows that bodily fatigue does not always cause 
mental or moral prostration. A very active, vigorous in¬ 
tellect may exist in a body completely prostrated by la¬ 
bor. On the other hand, it happens not seldom that 
when the intellect is tired through severe and long appli¬ 
cation, we take pleasure in physical exercise. It is diffi¬ 
cult to explain this phenomenon, for the changes that 
take place in the muscular system are far from being pro¬ 
portioned to the changes that happen in the nervous 
system. 

§ 28. REASONS THAT CONFIRM WHAT WE HAVE SAID RE¬ 
GARDING THE ORIGIN OF SLOTH. 

That sloth consists in an instinctive aversion to suffer¬ 
ing will further appear from the following observations : 
1. Whenever labor causes pleasure we not only experi¬ 
ence no-aversion to it, but, on the contrary, we feel our¬ 
selves attracted by it. 2. The repugnance we have to 
work is always greater before the work is begun, than it is 
afterwards, for then greater efforts are required to induce 
us to act. 3. When we have not labored for a sufficient¬ 
ly long time to exhaust our strength we experience no 
repugnance to labor. 4. This repugnance arises and in- 


264 


CRITERION. 


creases in proportion to the degree of exhaustion which 
we experience. 5. Persons of very lively dispositions are 
more easily exhausted than those of contrary dispositions. 
6. Those who are light-headed and of very changeable 
dispositions are generally subject to the same defect, for 
they must not only overcome their repugnance to exer¬ 
tion, but they must also make strong efforts to resist their 
propensity to constant changes. 

§29. INCONSTANCY-ITS ORIGIN. 

Inconstancy is apparently nothing else than excessive 
acti vity; for the inconstant man is ever engaged in 
a variety of affairs. In reality, however, inconstancy is 
simply laziness clothed in the garb of hypocrisy. The 
inconstant man begins a work and leaves it unfinished 
to begin another which he will not finish either. By act¬ 
ing thus he avoids the weariness which he experiences in 
being engaged in the same work and keeping his whole 
attention fixed on it. Hence it happens that lazy men 
are generally great schemers. iTTe^ufresrtid great" effort 
to devlie^projects, and in the rapid transition from one to 
another they find a variety that pleases them. They are, 
too, very fond of undertaking many things either succes¬ 
sively or simultaneously, but they will, of course, never 
finish anything they take hold of. 

§ 30. PROOFS AND APPLICATIONS. 

We often see men who neglect to do a work which duty 
and interest prescribe, whilst they willingly engage in 
other work that requires just as much application, and in¬ 
volves the same amount of patient toil. Some pressing 
duty devolves on them, and though they might attend to 






THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


265 


it in less than half the time which they devote to useless 
correspondence, yet they neglect it entirely. A person 
wishes to speak to them on some important affair ; they 
cannot be seen, for their time is occupied in idle chat 
or useless work. A meeting takes place at which ques¬ 
tions are discussed that affect their own interests consid¬ 
erably ; they know the importance of the questions to be 
discussed ; it would require no effort on their part to be 
present at the meeting and to give their opinions on the 
matters under discussion ; yet they will stay at home and 
talk about politics, about war, about science, about any 
thing else that is not to the point. To take a walk, to 
discourse on a subject for any considerable time, even to 
spend a long time in company, involves fatigue of mind 
and body ; yet we find persons without number who are 
willing to submit to this fatigue, whilst the number of 
real workers is very small. What is the cause of this ? 
It is thus that walking, chatting, disputing are occupa¬ 
tions compatible with inconstancy ; they require no great 
efforts, they admit of constant variety, they cause fatigue 
or give repose, according to our good pleasure or caprice., 

§ 31. THE MEDIUM BETWEEN THE TWO EXTREMES. 

In the direction of others and much^ore of ourselves, 
it is very difficult to avoid pusillanimity without fomenting 
presumption ; to encourage~energy without inspiring van¬ 
ity ; to let the mind feel its own strength, and yet to pre¬ 
serve it from the danger of becoming blinded by pride. 
This is what the Gospel teaches us ; reason too applauds 
and admires conduct like this. Between these two rocks 
we must constantly sail ; we may not perhaps venture to 



266 


CRITERION. 


hope that we will never touch on one or other of the two ; 
but we may desire and strive, and even hope not to strike 
against them so violently as to suffer shipwreck. 

It is difficult to practice virtue, but it is not impossible. 
Man does not here on earth acquire virtue in all its beauty, 
it will ever be stained with some imperfections, yet he pos¬ 
sesses means sufficient to enable him to practice it more 
or less perfectly. Our reason resembles a ruler who is 
ever combatting against evil passions that rise up in re¬ 
bellion ; but God has given him all necessary arms to 
enable him to conquer. This struggle is painful, terrible 
and full of danger, but for this very reason it is worthy of 
generous, valiant souls. In vain do men proclaim the 
omnipotent power of passions, in vain do they tell us 
that reason is powerless against them. The human soul, 
this offspring of God’s power and love, is never aban¬ 
doned by its merciful and generous Maker. No human 
power will ever completely destroy virtue in the individual, 
no power on earth will ever succeed in banishing it from 
society. It will live in the individual notwithstanding 
his crimes ; it will shine forth in society in spite of the 
most violent moral convulsions. In the culpable indi¬ 
vidual it will claim its rights by the voice of poignant re¬ 
morse, in society it will be defended by eloquent protests 
and heroic examples. 

§32. SOUND MORALITY IS THE BEST GUIDE OF THE PRAC¬ 
TICAL INTELLECT. 

The safest guide of the practical intellect is sound mor¬ 
ality. The worst policy that can be followed in the gov¬ 
ernment of nations, is the policy of unlawful interests, 
the policy of intrigues and corruption ; the soundest po- 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 267 

licy is that of enlightened reason and law. In private life, 
the worst policy we can pursue, is the policy of ignoble 
manoeuvres, of sordid aims, and of vice; the best policy 
is the policy of generosity and of virtue. 

The useful and the lawful do not sometimes seem to 
agree with each other, but in reality they are never op¬ 
posed to each other. They may seem to pursue different 
paths, but they will eventually arrive at the same terminus. 
God wishes thus to try men’s strength, and to give us, 
even here below, some reward for our constancy. But 
even if this reward should be reserved for the next life ex¬ 
clusively, is it perhaps a small reward to go down into the 
grave with the happy consciousness of having done our 
duty; to leave this world without remorse, with a tran¬ 
quil soul and a heart full ot hope ? Let us acknowledge 
that the art of governing nations, is simply reason and 
morality applied to the practical life of nations, and the 
art of living well is simply the Gospel put into practice. 

Neither society, nor the individual can ever with impu¬ 
nity forget or abandon the eternal principles of morality. 
If through motives of interest they ever do this, they will 
learn sooner or later, and learn to their cost, that they 
have done wrong. We can never make an idol of self- 
interest ; if we attempt to do it, the idol becomes the 
victim that is slain. Daily experience proves the truth of 
this assertion, and it stands written in characters of blood 
on the pages of history. 

§ 33 . THE HARMONY OF THE UNIVERSE PRESERVED THOUGH 
PUNISHMENT. 

Whoever commits a fault brings punishment on him¬ 
self. There exists a harmony in the universe; whoever 


268 


CRITERION. 


disturbs it, will suffer. Pain is the legitimate conse¬ 
quence of the abuse of our physical faculties ; the aberra¬ 
tions of the heart are succeeded by sorrow and bitter re¬ 
morse. Through excessive ambition man becomes an 
object of ridicule ; through inordinate pride he strives to 
elevate himself above others, and meets with stern resist¬ 
ance, provokes wrath, and is subjected to bitter humilia¬ 
tions. It may be pleasant to do nothing, but poverty is 
the child of sloth, and the necessity of providing for his 
wants, will sooner or later compel the slothful man to 
bear the burden of the day and the heat thereof. The 
prodigal squanders his riches in pleasure, and ostenta¬ 
tious exhibitions of his liberality, but abject poverty will 
avenge itself on him, and he who revelled in pleasure, 
will be grievously tormented by privations. The avari¬ 
cious man fears poverty and accumulates wealth ; but not¬ 
withstanding his wealth, he endures all the miseries of 
that poverty which he dreads so much. His dwelling 
is uncomfortable, his food coarse and scanty, his gar¬ 
ments poor and tattered. The fear of losing anything, 
prevents him from engaging in enterprises that might 
prove advantageous, and he is constantly tormented by 
his distrust of all those who surround him. Money 
troubles him by day, money disturbs his rest by night. 
In the dead silence of night he arises cautiously from his 
couch, and visits mysterious places to see whether or not 
his treasure is safe, or'to add to it a few more dollars. In 
the meantime he is observed by a neighbor or a member 
of his household, and the next time he goes to look after 
the money which he has accumulated with so much soli¬ 
citude, and guarded with such zealous care, he finds that 
it has all disappeared. 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 269 

In conversation, in writing, even in works of art, the 
excessive eagerness to please often causes displeasure and 
annoyance. The distance from the sublime to the ridicu¬ 
lous, from the delicious to the distasteful, is frequently 
not great; a prurient desire to present symmetrical pic¬ 
tures often leads to extravagant contrasts. In the gov¬ 
ernment of society, the abuse of power generally leads 
to its own destruction, the abuse of liberty leads to slavery. 
The nation that attempts to extend its frontier too far, is 
enclosed within narrower limits than natural conditions 
would seem to demand ; the conqueror who attempts to 
adorn his brow with many crowns, ends by losing them all. 
Not content with a dominion that extends over vast em¬ 
pires, he goes to end his days on a solitary rock in the 
immense ocean. The greater number of those who are 
ambitious of supreme power, are doomed to wander about 
as exiles in foreign countries. They desire to dwell in 
the monarch’s palace, and they lose their domestic hearth ; 
they dream of thrones,and awaken on the gallows. 

§ 34. REMARKS ON THE ADVANTAGES AND DISADVANTGES 
OF VIRTUE IN PRACTICAL LIFE. 

God’s laws cannot be violated with impunity ; punish¬ 
ment, as we have seen, follows upon the commission of 
crime, and this punishment frequently overtakes man in 
this life Hence the calculations which we based on in¬ 
terest in opposition to the laws of morality, are generally 
deceitful. Immorality is caught in its own snares. I do 
not, however, intend t <5 deny that a virtuous man may, in 
given cases, find himself at a great disadvantage, if he has 
to compete with an adversary who is lost to every senti¬ 
ment of morality. Such a man will not be scrupulous 


270 


CRITERION. 


about the means which he employs to obtain his end ; 
whilst the honest man will never make use of means 
which he believes to be unlawful. It may therefore happen 
that a virtuous man will fail to obtain his end, whilst the 
dishonest man meets with complete success. But though 
this may happen in some particular cases, yet in the 
course of time, the inconveniences that are attached to 
virtue will be amply compensated by the advantages that 
flow from it, even as on the other hand, the momentary 
advantages that are derived from vice, are more than 
counterbalanced by the evils of which vice is the prolific 
source. In the long run virtue will be its own reward, 
and dishonesty will be its own punishmcn'. The way of 
the wicked may Indeed seem to be strewn with flowers, 
but the end thereof is destruction. 

§ 35. VIRTUE DEFENDED AGAINST AN UNJUST CHARGE. 

When virtuous persons meet with misfortune, they are 
sometimes inclined to ascribe their misfortune to their scru¬ 
pulous exactness in observing the laws of morality. They 
thus seem to make a parade of their virtue, whilst they 
are carefully silent about the imprudent manner in which 
they have conducted themselves; for it is certain that a 
man may have the most upright intentions, and yet act 
very imprudently. Virtue cannot justly be held respon¬ 
sible for the evils which we have brought on ourselves 
through our levity or imprudence, yet we not unfre- 
quently attribute to it our misfortunes. My honest faith 
has become the cause of my ruin, exclaims the good-na¬ 
tured man when he has been made the victim of another’s 
cunning ; whilst in truth it was not his honest faith that 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


2; I 

ruined him, but his imprudent confidence in a man whom 
he had good reason to suspect. Do not dishonest men 
sometimes become the victims of other men’s dishonesty ? 
Is not the perfidious traitor sometimes himself made the 
victim of treason ? Virtue points out to us the path we 
should pursue, but it does not show us all the snares we 
may encounter on our way. Prudent foresight and sound 
judgment must guide us here. These excellent qualities 
render the practice of virtue agreeable, but they are by no 
means a necessary accompaniment of virtue. Like a faith¬ 
ful friend of humanity, virtue loves to take up her abode 
in the human heart ; but she neither causes the rays of in¬ 
telligence to shine brightly on the soul, nor does she ob¬ 
scure those rays by dark and misty clouds. 

§36. KNOWLEDGE DEFENDED AGAINST A FALSE ACCUSATION. 

Some persons imagine that brilliant talents and great 
learning incline men to evil. But these persons really 
seem to blaspheme the goodness of our Creator ; or must 
virtue perhaps lean on ignorance for her support ? Have 
not knowledge and virtue one common source ? Do not 
both emanate from the immense ocean of light and sanc¬ 
tity which is God himself? If brilliancy of talents natur¬ 
ally leads to evil, then the most brilliant intellect is neces¬ 
sarily the most perverse being. Are you not shocked at 
the consequence to which this leads ? Are you willing to 
assert that infinite intelligence is identical with infinite 
evil ? Assert this, and you have at once fallen into the 
errors of the old Manicheans, who maintained that in as¬ 
cending the scale of beings, we must at last arrive at a 
principle of evil,*a supreme evil. You have even gone 


272 


CRITERION. 


further than Manes himself dared to go, for you destroy 
the principle of good, which he did not. You make the 
genius of evil rule unrivalled over the destinies of the 
world ; the prince ot darkness comes forth from Tartarus 
and erects his throne in the blissful empyrean. No, 
men need not shun the light through fear of being led 
astray ; truth does not dread the light, and moral good is 
itself a great truth. 

The more the intellect is enlightened, the more clearly 
does it see the charming beauty of virtue, and the more 
irresistibly does man feel himself attracted by it. Sub¬ 
limity of ideas and elevation of sentiments generally bear 
each other faithful company, and these sentiments either 
proceed from virtue or are eminently calculated to dispose 
men to the practice of it. 

In the very nature of the faculties of the soul we dis¬ 
cover a powerful reason for esteeming talent and learning. 
Every one knows that too great a development of one 
faculty is prejudicial to the development of others; con¬ 
sequently, when the superior faculties of the soul are de¬ 
veloped to a very high degree, the lower and grosser fa¬ 
culties remain undeveloped, and these lower faculties are 
undoubtedly a prolific source of immorality. The history 
of the human mind confirms this truth. Generally speak¬ 
ing, men who have attained a very eminent degree of in¬ 
tellectual culture, have not been remarkably perverse or 
immoral ; many among them have been men of eminent 
virtue ; others have indeed been subject to human weak¬ 
ness, but they were not perverse men, and if any among 
them have fallen into such a depth of moral depravity 
they are merely exceptions to the rule. A learned man 
whose conduct is immoral, compromises the reputation 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


273 


of learned men generally, for from the fact that some par¬ 
ticular scholars have been wicked, men draw the general 
conclusion that all scholars are wicked men. But do you 
know why this is so ? The reason of it is because the 
learned man attracts the attention of every body, whilst 
nobody takes notice of the ignorant man who departs 
from the path of moral rectitude. Great learning and 
moral depravity form a very lively contrast, and this very 
contrast makes the ugly extremes appear in such vivid 
colors. For the same reason, the bad conduct of a clergy¬ 
man shocks our moral sensibilities much more than does 
that of a layman. You do not notice any specks in an 
unclean crystal, but if the crystal is polished, you perceive 
the slightest stain on it. 

§37. PASSIONS ARE VERY USEFUL INSTRUMENTS, BUT DAN¬ 
GEROUS COUNSELLORS. 

We have seen above (chapt. 19) how passions prevent 
us from acquiring a knowledge of truth, even speculative 
truth. But what we there said in general may be vari¬ 
ously applied in practical life. Whenever we wish to 
carry out any project we have conceived, our passions are 
powerful auxiliaries; but if in forming the project, we 
consult these passions and submit to their counsels, we 
may be very easily led astray. A man without passions 
is cold, irresolute, inactive, unfit for any important un¬ 
dertaking, for he lacks one of the most powerful prin¬ 
ciples of action that God has given to human nature. 
But if on the other hand, we allow our passions to con¬ 
trol us, we will act blindly and our conduct will not differ 
very much from that of irrational ereatures. 


2;4 


CRITERION. 


If we attentively examine the manner in which our fa¬ 
culties operate, we will see that reason is the faculty that 
directs, whilst passions are the agents that execute what 
reason prescribes. Reason considers not only the present, 
but likewise the past and future; passions, on the con¬ 
trary, regard an object as it is actually present to us, and 
as we are affected by it. It is therefore the province of 
reason to point out to us whatever may be useful or hurt¬ 
ful, not only at the present moment, but in the future 
likewise ; whereas passions, whose province is merely to 
execute directions received, consider only the present 
moment and the impression which they have actually re¬ 
ceived. Reason does not stop simply in pleasure, but 
takes utility, morality and decorum into account; passions 
abstract from all this, and consider merely whether the 
impressions of the moment are agreeable or otherwise. 

§ 38. HYPOCRISY OF THE PASSIONS. 

When I speak of passions, I do not mean only those 
strong, violent, stormy inclinations, which convulse the 
soul like tempestuous storms that lash the sea into fury ; 
I mean likewise those passions which are, so to speak, 
more spiritual, more refined, more subtle in their nature, 
and are generally called sentiments rather than passions. 
Passions differ from them chiefly on account of their 
greater intensity and the violence with which they tend to 
their objects. Sentiments are therefore more delicate in 
their nature ; but they are not less dangerous than violent 
passions ; in fact, on account of this very delicacy, they 
are even more dangerous ; for it gives them greater power 
to seduce us and lead us astray. When passion exhibits 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


275 


itself in all its deformity and violence, when it not only 
resolutely refuses to be guided by reason, but strives to 
subject reason completely to its own despotic rule ; then 
reason is put on its guard and prepares for the struggle. 

The very impetuosity with which passion attacks us, 
induces us sometimes to resist it with heroic courage and 
to overcome it. But when passion exhibits itself in 
milder forms, when it lays aside, so to say, its hideous 
garments and covers itself with the mantle of reason, then 
it insinuates itself more easily, and unless we are greatly 
on our guard, it will deceive us. We will regard its 
suggestions as wise, as perfectly conformable to enlight¬ 
ened reason and sound morality, and thus it takes by 
treachery the fortress which it could not have taken by 
violent assault. 

§ 39. EXAMPLES-VENGEANCE UNDER TWO FORMS. 

A man has it in his power to bring ruin or disgrace 
on another man, by whom he has been offended. As 
soon as he discovers that his enemy is in these straits, he 
remembers the injury done to himself. Resentment 
awakens in his bosom ; it gives way to anger, and anger 
engenders a strong desire of revenge. And why should 
he allow this excellent opportunity of revenging himself 
to escape him ? Will he not enjoy the satisfaction of 
seeing his enemy foiled in his hopes, covered with shame 
and brought to ruin ? Will it not be a pleasure to see him 
driven to despair ? Revenge yourself! revenge your¬ 
self ! his heart exclaims ; revenge yourself on him and let 
him feel it bitterly; he has injured you, why should not 
you injure him ? He has covered you with shame, why 
should not you do the same to him ! He has-rejoiced at 


2 y 6 


CRITERION. 


your misery, at your disgrace, why should you not pay 
him off with interest and enjoy the satisfaction of seeing 
him humbled, crushed, writhing in despair ? The victim 
is completely in your power, do not let go your grasp. 
His children will be ruined . . . let it be so. His father, 
his mother will die heart-broken . . . let them die . . . 
the vile wretch will be only more severely punished. His 
heart will bleed more profusely, his despair will be so 
much greater; the measure of his miseries will be filled 
with the bitter gall which he has so abundantly poured 
into yours. Revenge yourself then, show no pity, for he 
had none for you ; he deserves no generosity, no forgive¬ 
ness ; think simply of revenge ! 

Thus speaks hatred when stirred up by anger, but no 
generous heart will listen to language so revoltingly cruel ; 
its very cruelty excites'contrary sentiments. Such con¬ 
duct, says the man to himself, would be ignoble; it 
would be infamous, even my self-love revolts at it. What, 
then, shall I rejoice at the disgrace, the complete ruin 
of this family ? Will not the remembrance of the ruin 
which I have brought on innocent children, be a source 
of cruel remorse to me ? Will not the ghosts of the 
aged parents, whom I have sent sorrowing into their 
graves, haunt me during all the days of my life ? No, I 
cannot, I will not do it. There is a more honorable way 
of avenging myself. Let my enemy know, that if he 
could be mean, I can be noble-minded ; if he could be 
inhuman, I can be generous; I will take no other revenge 
on him than that of conquering him by my generosity ; 
he will see my conduct towards him, and he will blush ; 
his heart will be troubled by remorse, and he will render 
me satisfaction for the injury he has done me. The 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


2 77 


spirit of revenge is conquered by its own imprudence. 
It clamored with furious rage ; it demanded merciless 
destruction; but the heart revolted at such extravagant 
cruelty, it called its noble sentiments to its aid, and the 
victory remained on the side of reason. How different 
might not the result have been if the spirit of revenge had 
shown itself less cruel and implacable; if it had shown 
itself in forms less revolting ? It clamored ferociously, 
when it ought to have spoken in gentle whispers. It 
terrified the heart by its fury, when it ought to have 
charmed it by its smiling features and its engaging man¬ 
ners. Certainly! it should have said, the man deserves 
no favor from you, he has offended you and that is a suf¬ 
ficient reason for opposing him ; he has done you harm, 
but this is not exactly the moment to think of it. It 
must not appear that you are influenced by resentment; 
let your reason guide you and be simply actuated by the 
desire of preventing him from attaining a fortune of which 
he is so entirely unworthy. The man has certainly some 
abilities for succeeding in his undertaking ; these might 
be allowed fair play, but then he has, too, unpardonable 
faults ; the offence he has committed against you proves 
this clearly ; still you should not think of it for the pur¬ 
pose of taking revenge; but merely to enable you to form 
a correct judgment on the present matter. Perhaps you 
would enjoy a satisfaction in seeing him opposed, hum¬ 
bled, and even ruined ; but you are not influenced by the 
desire of doing this yourself; the motives that influence 
you are all good ; indeed if you had no other motives for 
opposing him than your resentment, you would never do 
anything to thwart his plans. Perhaps you might even go 
so far as to make some sacrifice for him ; it would be pain- 


278 


CRITERION. 


ful, very painful, still you might possibly resign yourself 
to do it. But this is not your case; virtue, prudence, 
justice, agree with your inclinations, approve of them, in 
fact. It is true that you feel a satisfaction at your ene¬ 
mies’ misfortune ; but this, after all, is only a natural feel¬ 
ing that can hardly be overcome; besides, you are not 
under its control, it has not the mastery over you. Let 
justice, then, take its own course, and take your measures 
in the matter. Only proceed with prudence and calm 
deliberation, that every one may see that you are not in¬ 
fluenced by partiality, hatred, or the desire of revenge. 
A violent, cruel, and manifestly unjust desire of revenge, 
could not obtain the victory which the same desire of re¬ 
venge achieved without difficulty, when it attacked you 
so deceitfully, when it presented itself before you, clothed 
in the hypocritical garb of reason, justice and duty. 

For this reason revenge is never more terrible than 
when it acts through apparent zeal for justice. When 
hatred has once succeeded in deceiving us so completely 
as to make us believe that we are influenced solely by 
holy desires, or even motives of charity, then it resembles 
a dangerous reptile which charms us, though we see it 
not, nor even suspect its presence. Then envy attacks the 
most unblemised reputations, rancor becomes inexora¬ 
ble. The revengeful soul exults when it sees its wretched 
victims writhing in convulsive agonies ; it is not satisfied 
until it has seen them empty the cup of bitterness and 
pain, to its very last dregs. The first martyr of Christianity 
shone forth in all the splendor of the most exalted virtue ; 
he confounded the Jews by his more than human elo¬ 
quence ; envy and hatred fill their hearts, they gnash 
at him with their teeth, they stop their eais, pretending 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


279 


to be scandalized at his words, and through zeal for the 
glory of the God ol heaven, they stone the innocent victim 
to death. he Saviour of the world is the admiration of 
all that hear Him. He charms them by the sublimity of 
His doctrines, by the words of heavenly wisdom that flow in 
rich torrents from His sacred lips. People flock to Him 
trom all parts to hear and see Him, and He goes about 
doing good to all; He is condescending towards the little 
ones, compassionate towards the afflicted, indulgent to¬ 
wards the guilty. Whenever He appears, He distributes 
with lavish profusion the riches of His omnipotent love, 
He never opens his mouth but to utter words of sweet¬ 
ness and forgiveness ; only when He addresses hypocrites, 
He speaks in tones of severity and holy indignation, in 
order to confound and reclaim them. He stands before 
them in majestic severity; they look at Him with the in¬ 
sidious glance of the viper. Envy rends their hearts, the 
desire of revenge fills their souls, but they neither act nor 
speak like men whose great desire is to'be revenged. No. 
This man is a blasphemer, said they, He seduces the 
people, He is an enemy of Caesar ; loyalty to Caesar, the 
welfare of the public, religion itself demands that He 
should die. They bargain with a treacherous disciple to 
have Him delivered into their hands ; they drag Him to 
the tribunal. He is questioned about His doctrines ; He 
answers meekly to the questions put to Him, but the 
high priest, filled with zeal for God’s glory, rends his 
garment in holy horror, and exclaims “He hath blas¬ 
phemed,” and the bystanders cry out “ He is guilty of 
death. ” 


280 


CRITERION. 


§ 40. PRECAUTIONS. 

Man can never reflect too much on the secrets of his 
heart; he can never guard too carefully the thousand 
avenues by which iniquity tries to enter into it; he can 
never take too many precautions against the snares which 
his passions lay for him. Our passions are not so very 
dangerous when they show themselves to us in their true 
colors, by openly striving to attain their ends and vio¬ 
lently overthrowing whatever stands in their way. In 
such cases, the soul sees at once the evil which the pas¬ 
sions propose to her, in all its hideous, disgusting de¬ 
formity. She utters a cry of horror and indignation, 
unless indeed she has lost every particle of love for virtue, 
and has reached the last extreme of moral corruption and 
perverseness. But ho w g reat is not the danger, when 
these same passions change their colors, assume different 
names, and pretend to be what they are not? How~ 
easily may not the soul be deceived, when looking through 
false prisms she sees lovely colors and charming features, 
when in reality there is only monstrous deformity. The 
allurements of the grosser passions are far less dangerous 
to a heart that is pure, than the allurements of those sen¬ 
timents which charm by their delicacy and seduce by 
their tenderness. Fear will not take possession of noble 
souls, without exhibiting the honorable title of prudence. 
Avarice will not attack you except under the spurious 
pretexts of wise economy. Pride clothes itself in the 
garb of your dignity and the respect due to your position. 
Vanity gains admittance into the heart by representing 
the necessity under which you are of consulting the opin¬ 
ions of others, and profiting by their criticisms. Revenge 



THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


281 


calls itself justice, and furious rage is transformed into 
holy indignation. Sloth pleads its cause by explaining 
the laws of repose imposed by nature ; and whilst a de¬ 
vouring envy is destroying the reputation of others, and 
obscuring by its impure breath the splendor of eminent 
merits, it talks about love of truth, about impartiality, 
about the danger of being carried away by popular ad¬ 
miration or childish enthusiasm. 

§ 41 . HYPOCRISY OF MAN TOWARDS HIMSELF. 

Man makes use of hypocrisy more frequently to de¬ 
ceive himself than to deceive others. He seldom renders 
himself a just account of the motives that influence him 
in his actions; hence even the most eminent virtue is 
sometimes tainted with imperfections. The gold of vir¬ 
tue must be purified in the crucible of divine charity, and 
this charity is possessed in all its perfection in heaven 
only. As long as we live here on earth we have within 
us a malignant germ which weakens and impedes the 
growth of virtue ; it will be well for us if it does not de¬ 
stroy it entirely. We will have done more than a little 
if we succeed in preventing our passions from effect¬ 
ing our ruin. Yet, notwithstanding all this weakness, 
there shines in the sanctuary of the soul an inextinguish¬ 
able light which God Himself has kindled ; this light 
shows us the distinction between good and evil ; it directs 
us on our way ; it enables us to retrace our steps whenever 
we have gone astray, for it causes us to feel remorse in 
our interior. For this reason we love to deceive our¬ 
selves, for we do not wish to place ourselves in open op¬ 
position to the dictates of conscience. We stop our ears 
lest we should hear what it tells us ; we close our eyes in 


282 


CRITERION. 


order not to see what it shows us, and we strive to con¬ 
vince ourselves that the principle which it inculcates does 
not apply to our case. Our passions, unfortunately, are 
only too ready to assist us to reason thus sophistically. 
It is very unpleasant to appear to be wicked even in ones 
own eyes. To avoid this unpleasantness man becomes 
a hypocrite. 

§42. KNOWLEDGE OF ONE’s-SELF. 

The defect indicated in the preceding paragraph is de¬ 
veloped differently in different persons, hence it is of 
very great importance never to lose sight of the profoundly 
wise rule laid down by the ancients : ‘ ‘ Know thyself”— 
Nosce te ipsum. Some qualities are, it is true, common 
to all men, but it will be difficult to find two men in 
whom they are developed in exactly the same manner. 
Every man has his own peculiar character; it behoves 
him to know what it is, in order that he may be able to 
regulate it properly. We should understand well the 
character of those with whom we have to deal, in order 
that we may be able to treat with them pleasantly; but 
we should first endeavor to acquire a perfect knowledge 
of our own dispositions. Herein lies the secret of all our 
important actions, whether they be good or evil; for the 
mould in which our character is shaped is always some 
one strong propensity which predominates over all the 
rest and makes them subservient to itself. All other pas¬ 
sions are affected by this one predominant passion ; it 
enters more or less into all our actions; it gives us the 
peculiar features that form our character and distinguish 
us from all other men. 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


283 


§ 43. MAN DISLIKES THE KNOWLEDGE OF HIMSELF. 

If we had not such a strong aversion to the knowledge 
of ourselves ; if we had not so great a repugnance to look 
carefully into our own interior, we would not find it very 
difficult to discover our evil passions. But, unfortu¬ 
nately, no knowledge is as distasteful to us as the know¬ 
ledge of ourselves. The greater part of men go down 
into the grave,without ever having known themselves, and 
without having even made an attempt to know them¬ 
selves. We ought constantly to keep our attention fixed 
on our heart in order to know its inclinations, to penetrate 
into its secrets, to refrain its ardors, correct its vices and 
avoid its errors. We should make it a regular habit to 
enter into ourselves, to render to ourselves an exact ac¬ 
count '01 all our thoughts and affections; we should ac¬ 
custom ourselves never to begin an action without hav¬ 
ing first consulted onr heart and given proper directions 
to our will. This is, unfortunately, not understood. 
Man acts at random ; he is led away by every attractive 
object that presents itself before his eyes; he is absorbed 
in things outside of himself; these engage his whole at¬ 
tention and leave him no time ever to think seriously of 
himself. We see bright intellects and lovely hearts that 
seem to reserve to themselves none of the precious gifts 
with which their Creator has enriched them. They scat¬ 
ter, as it were, on the road and public squares a precious 
aroma which, if preserved, would in evil days have given 
them joy and comfort. 

It is related by Paschal that he became disgusted with 
the study of mathematics and the natural sciences, to 
which he had applied himself with great ardor, because 



284 


CRITERION. 


he found so very few persons with whom he could dis¬ 
course pleasantly on these branches of knowledge. De¬ 
sirous to engage in studies that would not be subject to 
this inconvenience, he applied himself to the study of 
man. But experience soon convinced him that the num¬ 
ber of those who made man the object of their studies 
was considerably smaller than the number of the students 
of mathematics. This is as true at present as it was in 
the days of Paschal; it is only necessary to cast a glance 
on the world to convince ourselves that few men are will¬ 
ing to undergo the fatigue of studying man, much less 
the fatigue of studying their own being. 

§ 44. HAPPY RESULTS OF THE STUDY OF THE PASSIONS. 

When a man has acquired the habit of reflecting on 
his own inclinations and has discovered the character and 
intensity of each one of them, he may, indeed, be led 
astray by them occasionally, but this will not happen 
without his knowledge. His intellect will not be so com¬ 
pletely blinded by passion as not to perceive that he has 
done wrong. But if a man never enters into himself 
' v "to consider attentively the state of his interior ; if he 
acts merely through the impulse of passion without even 
considering from whence that impulse proceeds, the re¬ 
sult will be that his passions and his will, the dictates of 
his reason and the instincts of passion, will all be one and 
the same thing for him. His reason will not be a mis¬ 
tress that commands, but a slave that blindly obeys ; in¬ 
stead of directing by her wise counsels and commands 
the inclinations of the heart, she will simply be a vile in¬ 
strument of those same inclinations. She is compelled 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 285 

to prostitute herself by making every effort in her power 
to satisfy the vile cravings of passion. 

§45. HOW WISELY THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION DIRECTS MAN'S 
CONDUCT. 

The Christian religion teaches man to lead an interior 
life, and to be constantly watchful over his own inclina¬ 
tions. Herein she displays a profound knowledge of the 
human heart. The wisest philosophy could not teach 
man lessons more important or better adapted to his na¬ 
ture. Experience proves that it is not the want of specu¬ 
lative knowledge that prevents man from doing what is 
right, it is rather the want of practical knowledge. He 
commits blunders, because he is not in the habit of ap¬ 
plying the truths he knows to all the circumstances of 
real life. Who does not feel convinced that passions are 
dangerous, that they lead man astray from the path of 
moral rectitude and cause his ruin ? We all know this 
well enough, but our difficulty lies in knowing the par¬ 
ticular passion that influences our actions in this or that 
case; it lies in knowing our predominant passion, the 
forms under which it generally shows itself, and the 
means to be adopted in order not to be caught in its 
snares. Of all this we should have not only a vague, 
confused, indefinite knowledge, but a knowledge at once 
clear, distinct, vivid, and above all, so deeply impressed 
on our minds, that we will be under its influence in even 
the most ordinary actions of life. In the speculative 
sciences, the difference between a man of profound tal¬ 
ents and a man of very limited abilities, consists in this, 
that the former has a clear, solid, thorough knowledge 
of his subject, whereas the ideas of the latter on the same 


286 


CRITERION. 


subject are confused, vague, and superficial. One may 
have the same number of ideas that the other has, he will 
not speak on any subject with which the other is not, to 
some extent, acquainted ; the two have the same object 
before their eyes ; the only difference lies in this, that the 
vision of one is perfect, and that of the other defective. 
The same happens with regard to practical knowledge. 
A man may be thoroughly immoral and yet discourse 
magnificently on the laws of morality. But he knows 
these laws only in the abstract, he has not made a practi¬ 
cal application of them ; he has not reflected on the ob¬ 
stacles that stand in the way of their observance in given 
circumstances, nor has he attentively considered the pre¬ 
cise occasions on which they should be put into practice. 
Thus it happens that notwithstanding his abstract know¬ 
ledge of the laws of morality, his intellect, his will, his 
entire being, are under the control of his passions. He 
keeps these laws carefully locked up in the archives of 
his conscience ; he even studiously refrains from looking 
over them, for he fears that he might discover in them 
many points that could not be reconciled with his way of 
living. On the other hand, when virtue has taken deep 
roots in the soul, moral laws become quite familiar ideas ; 
they are ever present to our minds ; they direct us in all 
our actions; they come to our aid whenever we are in 
danger of being blinded by passion, and they trouble our 
peace of heart whenever we have done wrong. Thus 
they preserve us from evil and lead us on to virtue. 
Hence, religion unceasingly inculcates these moral prin¬ 
ciples ; it exhorts us to keep our eyes constantly fixed on 
them, for it knows that they are a precious seed that will 
yield a rich and excellent harvest. 



THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


287 


§ 46. MORAL SENTIMENTS A HELP TO VIRTUE. 

Moral sentiments develop and strengthen moral ideas 
very considerably. These sentiments are numerous, ad¬ 
mirable and very powerful; for though God permits our 
spirits to be agitated at times by violent tempests, yet he 
permits us, too, to enjoy days of calm, on which our soul 
is refreshed and invigorated by gentle zephyrs. The habit 
of paying sharp attention to the laws of morality and 
submitting to their prescriptions, greatly develops these 
good sentiments, and in proportion as they are developed 
evil inclinations are counteracted, and the practice of 
virtue is rendered easier. The struggle grows less dan¬ 
gerous and painful, for the pleasure we experience in fol¬ 
lowing the instincts of our good sentiments, amply com¬ 
pensates us for the sacrifice we have to make in resisting 
the inclinations that are evil, and thus we are not com¬ 
pelled to undergo the excruciating agonies which we ex¬ 
perience, whenever reason alone has to struggle against 
the heart. 

By thus developing our moral sentiments and calling 
them to the aid of virtue, we are powerfully stimulated 
to good, and our intellect is delivered from the danger of 
being blinded by contrary inclinations. There is in this 
opposition of passions a variety of combinations that pro¬ 
duces excellent results The love of pleasure is neutral¬ 
ized by the passion of self-respect. The excesses of pride 
are tempered by the fear of making one’s-self disagreeable 
or hated. Sloth is aroused by the desire of glory. Anger 
is suppressed by the fear of seeming to be rude and in¬ 
solent ; and the desire of revenge is controlled or over¬ 
come by the honor and pleasure that are found in gene¬ 
rosity. By this wise opposition of good sentiments to 


288 


CRITERION. 


evil sentiments, many of the germs of evil that exist in 
the human heart are counteracted or destroyed completely, 
and man becomes virtuous without ceasing to be sensible. 

§ 47 - A RULE TO BE OBSERVED IN FORMING PRACTICAL 
JUDGMENT. 

When we have discovered the main-spring of our ac¬ 
tions, when we have given to our good sentiments the 
development of which they are capable, it remains for us 
to direct our intellect, so that in its practical judgments 
it may always decide correctly. 

The first rule to be observed is, never to come to any 
decision whilst we are agitated by passion. How offen¬ 
sive does not a word, a look, a gesture, or the most in¬ 
significant action appear, when it comes from a person 
against whom we are prejudiced or angry ? The intention 
of the offender, we say at once, could not have been 
more malicious ; he not only intended to offend, but 
even to insult me; those that were present must surely 
have been scandalized ; the jesting smile on their lips 
showed clearly what they thought of the matter ; will they 
not regard you as a mean coward if you do not promptly 
resent the insult offered to you ? It is true that a man 
must not be insolent, but neither must he be indifferent 
to his own honor; he must not be imprudent, but pru¬ 
dence surely does not require that a man should allow 
himself to be trampled upon by everybody. Who is it 
that speaks thus ? Is it reason ? no, it is anger. But 
anger, it will be said, does not reason so sharply ; yes, it 
does reason, for it is aided by the intellect, which pro¬ 
vides it with all the means which it requires to gain its 
end. Not only is it aided by the intellect, but it, in its 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 289 

turn, sharpens the acumen of the mind, for it is certain 
that when passions are excited the mind is more vigorous 
and active. 

Do you desire a proof that the man who reasoned thus 
a moment ago, was not led by reason, but was influ¬ 
enced by anger ? The proof is easily given. If the man 
was correct in the view he had taken of the matter in ques¬ 
tion, those who witnessed the affair, would look upon it 
as he did. They are men of honor, who stand on their 
dignity, they know how to distinguish between words 
said with an intention to re prove, or hurt one’s feelings, 
and words said without any such intention ; yet they do 
not at all see the affair in the light in which the angry 
man looks at it; they smile, it is true ; but they do not 
smile at the insult which the man imagines is offered to 
him, but at the senseless outburst of anger of the sup¬ 
posed offender. Yet it is not necessary to have recourse 
to a third party, in order to discover the truth in the 
matter. Let the offended mans anger die out, and he 
will look at the affair in a quite different light, he will 
wonder at himself for having attached so much importance 
to it, and perhaps he will even apologize for the sudden 
change that was observed in his countenance. 

§48. ANOTHER RULE. 

From the preceding remarks we may deduce another 
rule. It is this : whenever you feel that you are under 
the influence of passion, consider for a moment or two 
what your sentiments would be, and how you would act 
if your interior was calm. This reflection, however short 
it may be, will greatly diminish the violence of your pas¬ 
sion, and will prevent you from blindly following its in- 


290 


CRITERION. 


stincts. The force of passion is broken the moment it is 
appeased by calm reflection ; the violence of its impulse 
is weakened when it comes into collision with a contrary 
impulse. By reflection you turn your mind to a different 
order of ideas; you deprive the passion of its exclusivism 
and place yourself under moral influences different from 
those of mere passion. The violence of passion must 
consequently diminish. 

Experience abundantly proves the importance of this 
rule, but there is, moreover, a reason for it, which is 
grounded on the very nature of our organism. Our in¬ 
tellectual and moral faculties are never exercised without 
the concurrence of our organic faculties. Now, there is 
a certain quantity of vital force distributed among our 
organic faculties; each faculty possesses a certain por¬ 
tion of this force, and in the ratio in which it is in¬ 
creased in one it is diminished in the others. It fol¬ 
lows from this that it must be very useful to oppose our 
intellectual force to the force of our passions, for the 
activity of the latter must diminish in the same propor¬ 
tion in which the organs of our intelligence are exercised. 
It must be observed, however, that in order to obtain 
this result the mind must take a direction different from 
that of the passions ; this is done by reflecting on what 
we would think, and how we would act, if we were not 
under the influence of passion. If the intelligence should 
gain sides with the passions, the violence of the latter in¬ 
stead of diminishing would only increase. Whatever the 
passions would lose in purely organic activity would be 
more than regained through the activity of the mind ; the 
means for attaining^this end would be multiplied con- 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 291 

siderably, if the mind, instead of attacking the passions, 
would only come to their assistance. 

This manner of combating the passions is not a mere 
abstract theory that cannot be reduced to practice; any 
one can convince himself of the contrary. It is true that 
we do not always employ these means for overcoming or 
directing our passions, nor do we always employ them in 
the best manner possible ; yet the mere habit of thus ob¬ 
serving the passions makes us be more on our guard, and 
prevents us frequently from being overcome by their sud¬ 
den impulses ; it gives us a rule of conduct which those 
have not who are unaccustomed to observe the workings 
of their own inclinations. 

§ 49. MAN LAUGHING AT HIMSELF. 

A man who is in the habit of closely watching over his 
passions, often overcomes them bv attacking them with 
the powerful weapon of ridicule. Ridicule is an excel¬ 
lent salt that preserves the mind and heart from corrup¬ 
tion ; it may be advantageously applied to others, but we 
ourselves can derive immense benefits from its use, by 
making our own defects the objects of our satire. We 
then speak to ourselves as others might speak to us, if 
they had observed our absurd conduct; we witness the 
scene that would present itself to our view, if some clever, 
facetious enemy had taken hold of the fact in the case. 
In fact, whenever we point the arrows of satire at our own 
defects, we rather direct them against another, than against 
ourselves, for there exist in our interior two men who are 
never at rest with each other, but are ever engaged in dis¬ 
putes and quarrels, and as the prudent, moral man op¬ 
poses the forces of his intellect and will to the allure- 


292 


CRITERION. 


ments of vice and immorality, so, too, he attacks and 
defeats them by making them the object of merciless 
satire. This sort of satire has the advantage of being free 
and even pleasant, for it is not noticed by any one but 
ourselves ; it does not injure our reputation, it does not 
lessen us in the estimation of others, as it is not expressed 
in words; the contemptuous smile which it excites on 
our lips, ceases the moment it begins to show itself. A 
happy thought of this sort that occurs to us when we are 
violently agitated by passion, produces an effect similar 
to that produced by a grave, judicious, well-pointed re¬ 
mark made to an excited assembly. How often does not 
a mere look suffice to stifle the passions of a man who is 
violently agitated, and to keep them within the limits of 
propriety ? And what has this look expressed ? It has 
reminded the man of the laws of decorum ; of the re¬ 
spect due to the place he is in, and the person whom he 
addresses ; has brought to his recollection a favor con¬ 
ferred, or the obligations of friendship and gratitude, or 
has been an expression of refined irony ; in short, it has 
been an appeal to the good sense of him who was on the 
point of becoming the plaything of his passions. His 
look was enough to restrain the outbursts of passion, and 
to calm the man’s agitated temper. Now if another man 
is able to influence us thus powerfully, why should not 
we be able to do the same ourselves, if not to the same, 
at least, to nearly the same extent. 

§ 50. PERPETUAL CHILDHOOD OF MAN. 

Every trifling thing is able to lead man astray, but a tri¬ 
fling thing is frequently, too, sufficient to bring him back 
to the path of duty. There is in man more of meek- 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


293 


ness than of malice, he has none of that satanic obstinacy, 
which clings forever to the evil that has once been com¬ 
mitted ; on the contrary, he passes from evil to good ; 
from vice to virtue, with very great facility. He is a child 
even up to old age ; he appears before others with an air 
of gravity, but he feels in his interior, that in many things 
he is a perfect child, and he is often ashamed of himself. 
It is said that a great man is never great in the eyes of his 
valet. This expresses a great truth. The reason of it is 
because, when we are in constant intercourse with a man, 
we discover in him many little weaknesses, that tend to 
lower him in our estimation. It is certain however, that 
the great man knows himself much more perfectly, than 
he is known, even by his valet, and therefore he probably 
has even a lower opinion of his own greatness than his 
servant has. Hence man, when he is in the flower of 
manly vigor, and when all his best qualities are fully de¬ 
veloped, yet needs a veil to cover the puerility of his 
heart. 

Children laugh and play and indulge in innocent 
frolic ; a moment passes, and they are peevish and fretful 
and shed abundant tears, and generally know not why. 
Do not grown up people do the same ? The child is af¬ 
fected by the impulses of its organism, by good or bad 
health, by the condition of the atmosphere ; let these 
change, and a change is wrought in its interior ; it re¬ 
tains no recollection of what happened a moment ago ; it 
gives itself no anxiety about what will happen in the 
future ; it is governed solely by the impression of the pre¬ 
sent moment. Do we not see men of mature years, men 
sensible and grave, act in like manner over and over 
again ? 


294 


CRITERION. 


§ 51 . INTERNAL VICISSITUDES OF DON NICASIO WITHIN A 
FEW HOURS. 

Don Nicasio is a man advanced in years, of ripe judg¬ 
ment and scholarship, of vast experience, and above all, 
not liable to be carried away by the impressions of the 
moment. He weighs all things in the balance of sound 
reason, and is very careful not to allow passions of any 
sort to influence his judgment. A friend comes to speak 
to him about an enterprise of great importance for the 
happy success of which he relies chiefly on Nicasio’s know¬ 
ledge of the world, and his particular skill in managing 
affairs of this sort. Don Nicasio is at the service of his 
friend ; he has no difficulty whatever about engaging in 
the enterprise ; he is even willing to risk a considerable 
amount of money in the speculation. He is quite cer¬ 
tain of the happy result that will crown his efforts; he 
knows that he will have powerful rivals to compete with, 
but this makes no impression on him. He has con¬ 
ducted affairs that required much more courage and en¬ 
ergy than the present one, and were much more compli¬ 
cated and difficult to manage; he has had to contend 
with rivals that were much more powerful than those who 
compete with him now. He is quite taken up with the 
idea of the proposed project, he discourses about it with 
fluency and ease ; his animated gestures show clearly the 
interest he takes in it; his face is brightened up with the 
fire of youth, in fact, you would almost imagine that Ni¬ 
casio had seen only some twenty-five years of life, were 
it not that a few white hairs, not well concealed by his 
wig, reveal to you the triumph of maturer years. 

The affair is concluded. Only a few minute details of 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 295 

no great importance remain to be settled, and this can 
easily be done in the next interview with his friend. When 
shall the friend call on him again ? Shall it be to-mor¬ 
row? “No, sir ; let the matter be settled with the least 
possible delay.” Nicasio’s active spirit loves to dispatch 
matters quickly; “ it shall then all be finally arranged 
this evening after tea. ” Don Nicasio returns home; no 
unpleasant event occurs on the way ; he finds his family 
in excellent spirits, and all his affairs in the same flourish¬ 
ing condition in which they had been before. At the 
hour agreed upon the friend appears; Nicasio is in his 
dressing-gown, in spite of the heat that almost suffocates 
him ; he is lying carelessly on his lounge ; he returns the 
salutation with forced pleasantness, but with evident signs 
of disagreeable weariness. “Let us see, Don Nicasio, if 
we have definitely agreed on the affairs of this morning. ” 

“We shall have time enough to talk on the matter,” 
coldly replies Nicasio, whilst his features clearly indicate 
that he is not at all in the humor of entering into serious 
conversation. 

“As you told me to call on you this evening . . . .” 

“Yes, but . . . . ” 

“As you choose, sir.” 

“The thing is very clear, but we must think over it 
well, for ” 

“ I know that there are difficulties to be overcome, but 
as I saw that you entered into my plans with so much 
spirit this morning, I imagined that it was all settled.” 

“Yes, and I feel about it now exactly as I did this 

morning.but it is better not to be in too great 

a hurry about it. However, we shall talk of it again,” he 
adds, with an expression that shows plainly that he does 


296 


CRITERION. 


not wish to utter a word that could possibly compromise 
him. 

Don Nicasio is another man ; he says what he thinks. 
The boldness and confidence of the morning have van¬ 
ished. The project is no longer so easy and promising 
as it seemed in the morning ; then the obstacles were 
small and of little importance ; now they are serious, if 
not insurmountable ; then the competitors excited no 
fear, now they are simply dangerous. What has hap¬ 
pened ? Has Don Nicasio obtained information on the 
subject which he had not in the morning ? No, for he 
has not spoken with anybody about the affair. Has he 
reflected on it more leisurely ? He has not thought about 
it since morning. What, then, has caused this change, 
so sudden and complete ? What has dampened his ar¬ 
dent spirits and induced him to view the affair so differ¬ 
ently from what he did only a few hours ago ? Nothing. 
The explanation of the apparently strange phenomenon is 
exceedingly simple ; do not expect to hear grave, weighty 
reasons, when the only ones that can be assigned are al¬ 
most insignificant. In the first place the heat is exces¬ 
sively oppressive ; its pressure weighs heavily on Don 
Nicasio’s mind and body ; then, again, the hour of the 
interview is disagreeable ; the state of the clouds, more¬ 
over, indicates an impending* terrific storm. At dinner 
Nicasio partook freely of a dish which he relished, indeed, 
but which does not agree with his stomach ; his siesta in 
the afternoon was restless and several times disturbed ; 
in short, if he is not exactly sick at che present moment, 
neither can he say that he is well. Is not all this quite 
enough to affect a man’s opinions and to upset his mind ? 
It is true that Nicasio himself had appointed the hour for 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


297 


the interview, yet would it not have been better if the 
friend had called at some other time when circumstances 
would not be so entirely unfavorable ? 

Such is man ; the least thing disconcerts him and 
changes him into another man. His soul is joined to a 
body that can be affected in a thousand ways, is subject 
to a thousand different impressions that succeed each 
other with the rapidity with which the leaves of a tree are 
moved by the wind. The spirit partakes of the incon¬ 
stancy of the body and is made subject to its endless 
changes, and though these changes directly affect our 
own being only, yet we are very liable to attribute them to 
the objects with which we come into contact. 

§ 52. SENTIMENTS ALONE ARE NOT A SAFE RULE OF 
CONDUCT. 

From what has been said, it appears clearly, that it is 
not possible to direct man’s conduct by the aid of senti¬ 
ment alone. The literature of the day which deals chiefly 
in vague sentimentalism, to the exclusion of reason and 
the prejudice of sound morality, simply ignores man’s 
nature and causes evils that are incalculable. To place 
man simply under the control of sentiment, is the same 
as to abandon a ship to the fury of the tempest without 
any one to steer her ; it is the sam^ as to proclaim the 
infallibility of passions. Tell a mant hat he must always 
follow the instincts of his nature, that he must blindly 
obey the emotions of his heart, and you deprive him com¬ 
pletely of his reason and free will, and turn him into a 
mere instrument of sentimentalism. It is said that great 
ideas are begotten in the heart, but with equal truth 
might it be said that great errors, absurd extravagances 


298 


CRITERION. 


and hideous crimes proceed from the heart. From the 
heart proceed all things ; it is an excellent harp that gives 
all sorts of sounds, from the horrible noise that resounds 
in the infernal chaos, up to the sweet harmonies that en¬ 
rapture the inhabitants of the celestial regions. 

The man that has no other rule of conduct than his 
heart alone, is merely the plaything of a thousand differ¬ 
ent and frequently contradictory inclinations. The feeble 
reed in the field that is beaten by every wind, does not 
move so irregularly and in as many opposite direc¬ 
tions, as the man who is under the complete control of 
his passions. Who can count or classify the endless 
variety of sentiments that succeed each other in the human 
heart within the short period of a few hours ! Who has 
not reflected on the marvellous facility with which the 
most intense love for a work is changed into an almost 
insuperable repugnance to the same ? Is not the mere 
presence of a person frequently sufficient to awaken in 
our hearts sentiments of sympathy or antipathy, for which 
we are unable to assign any reason, and which cannot be 
explained by anything that is likely to happen in the 
future ! Have we never been within a short quarter of 
an hour, full of life and spirits, and absorbed in gloomy 
silence ? full of heroic resolutions that feared no obtacles, 
and yet full of pusillanimity even more than childish ? 
How can this be accounted for? Who does not know 
the changes that are wrought in man by age, a change of 
his state of life, his social position, his family relations, 
health, climate, the atmosphere, the seasons! All that 
stands in any relation whatever to our ideas, our senses 
and our body, affects and modifies our sentiments. This 
explains the marvellous inconstancy of those who allow 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


299 


themselves to be carried away by every impulse of passion; 
it explains the reason why persons, who are by nature 
very sensitive and not accustomed to control their in¬ 
clinations, hardly ever remain for a moment in the same 
mood of mind. 

Passions were given to man as means to arouse his ac¬ 
tivity, as instruments to serve him in the performance of 
his duties, but God never intended that they should direct 
his intellect, or be for him a rule of conduct. It has 
been said that the heart never deceives; this is a great 
error, for what is man s life but a tissue of illusions 
caused by the heart? If it has happened sometimes, 
that by blindly following the instincts of the heart, we 
walked on in the right direction, how much oftener has 
it not happened that these same instincts led us astray ! 
Do you know why men tell us that the instincts of the 
heart will not lead us into error? The reason is, because 
they never consider the mistakes which the heart makes, 
but fix their attention solely on its successes, which are 
the more easily noticed, as they are so very rare. We are 
surprised to find that, notwishstanding all its blindness, 
the heart yet hits the proper mark occasionally, since, as 
a rule, it fails to do so. When we see that even in ex¬ 
ceptional cases, it succeeds to do it, we are inclined to 
throw a veil over its blindness and to ascribe to it a degree 
of foresight and prudence, which it neither possesses nor 
can possess. 

To ground morality on sentiment, is to destroy it com¬ 
pletely. He who conforms his conduct to the inspira¬ 
tions of mere sentiment, condemns himself to follow no 
one sentiment in particular, and to be at times led astray 
by such as are grossly immoral. The literature, which is 


300 


CRITERION. 


actually in vogue in France, and has been imported from 
there into other countries, tends to deify the passions, and 
deified passions are synonymous with extravagance, im¬ 
morality, corruption, and crime. 

§ 53. NOT SENSITIVE IMPRESSIONS, BUT REASON AND MO¬ 
RALITY MUST BE OUR RULE OF CONDUCT. 

In questions of morality or material interests we are 
not to decide according to our sensitive impressions, but 
according to fixed and certain laws; God’s eternal law 
should regulate our moral conduct, and enlightened rea¬ 
son should direct us in all that concerns onr material in¬ 
terests. Man is not a God, in whom all is holy for the 
reason that it exists in him. The impressions which he re¬ 
ceives are affections of his nature that do not in any man¬ 
ner change or modify the eternal law. A just action will 
remain just, even if it is disagreeable to us ; an unjust ac¬ 
tion can never be holy, how agreeable soever it may be. 
The implacable enemy who plunges the dagger into the 
heart of his foe experiences a cruel satisfaction in the act 
he does, but this act is a crime condemned by God and 
man. The Sister of Charity who watches by the bedside 
of the sick, and administers comfort and relief, undergoes 
many hardships that are not pleasant to flesh and blood ; 
but she performs heroic acts of virtue. 

Even in questions that regard merely material utility, 
we must not allow ourselves to be influenced by the im¬ 
pressions they make on us, but must look at things as 
they are in reality. Truth is not necessarily in our im¬ 
pressions but in the objects themselves. If there is a dis¬ 
agreement between the impressions and the objects, the 
impressions are deceitful. The real world is very differ- 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 301 

ent from the world of the poets and novelists ; we must 
deal with it as it is. Do not, then, indulge in mere 
dreams, do not lose yourself in idle sentimentalism ; the 
world is not a creature of our imagination, it rests on a 
solid basis, is positive and real. ] 

§ 54. A SENTIMENT THAT IS GOOD IN ITSELF MAY BECOME 
BAD BY BEING DEVELOPED TO EXCESS. 

Religion does not destroy our natural inclinations, it 
only moderates and directs them. Prudence does not 
despise the aid that may be obtained from these inclina¬ 
tions, but it will never allow them to gain the mastery 
over us. Harmony is not to be produced in man by the 
simultaneous development of the passions, but rather by 
keeping the passions within their proper limits. We 
have seen how our passions may be kept within bounds 
by other contrary passions, yet it is certain that it is chief¬ 
ly reason and morality that must control all our passions. 
If, in trying to overcome a passion by opposing to it an¬ 
other, we do not act under the direction of reason, we* 
may commit mistakes, for no passion can ever be good 
if it is not subject to reason; left to themselves passions 
degenerate and lead us on to excesses. 

A brave officer is ordered to defend a position of im¬ 
portance against the enemy. The danger increases at 
every moment; one by one his comrades drop dead on 
the field ; the enemy advances steadily ; all hope of de¬ 
fending his position vanishes, yet the order to retreat 
does not arrive. The officer’s courage begins to fail. 
Why should he sacrifice his life uselessly? Would it not 
be better to abandon the position which, after all, will be. 
taken by the enemy? Would not his superior officers 


302 


CRITERION. 


admit that it was a useless, if not a mad attempt to hold 
the place against such terrible odds ? Would they not 
be satisfied with the bravery which he has displayed by 
holding out so long ? But no, answers his noble heart, 
resolutely ; this would be cowardice under the cloak of 
prudence. What would your friends, your comrades, 
your officers say? “ I must choose between disgrace and 
death ; well, I will die like a true soldier and save my 
honor. ” 

Will'any one blame the brave officer, for havijig thus 
struggled against the temptation to cowardice ? The re¬ 
gard he has for his honor, the fear he has of being disgraced 
and looked upon as a mean coward, is not all this a 
passion in him ? Yes, but it is a noble, generous passion, 
by the aid of which he has armed himself against the 
attacks of fear, and does his duty as a soldier. It is clear, 
therefore, that his passion, being directed to a praise¬ 
worthy object, has produced excellent results that would 
not have been obtained without it. In those terribly 
critical moments, amid the roar of cannon, the wild shout 
of the approaching enemy, and the pitiful cries of his 
dying comrades, reason alone, unaided by passion, might 
have succumbed ; but a passion, stronger than the fear 
of death, the sentiment of honor, the fear of disgrace, 
came to the aid of reason, and reason triumphed in the 
fulfilment of duty. The order to retreat having arrived, 
the officer returned to his corps, leaving most of his men 
dead on the field. We thought you were dead, one of his 
friends tells him, have you not forgotten the parapets ? The 
officer considers himself insulted, he demands satisfaction 
on the spot; a few moments more, and the imprudent 
jester has ceased to live. The sentiment which an hour 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


303 


or two ago impelled the officer to deeds of heroic valor, 
has now made him an assassin. Honor, and the fear of 
being branded with cowardice, made him fearlessly stare 
death in the face; honor and the fear of being branded with 
cowardice, have induced him to imbue his hands in the 
blood of an imprudent friend. ^Passion, directed by reason, 
became heroism ; abandoned to its own blind impulses, it 
became the cause of a shocking crime. 

Emulation is a very strong passion of the human heart ; 
it is an excellent preservative against sloth, cowardice and 
all the other passions that prevent man from exercising 
his faculties. The teacher uses it as a means to stimulate 
the energies of his pupils; the father of the family has 
recourse to it, in order to induce a wayward child to do 
its duty ; the military commander holds it out to his men 
as a powerful motive to induce them to stand firmly 
against the enemy, and to perform deeds of heroic valor. 
The desire of making progress, of fulfilling our duties, 
of bringing an important affair to a happy termination, 
the pain caused by the conviction that we have not done 
all we should and could have done in a certain business, 
the shame of seeing ourselves left behind those whom we 
could easily have surpassed, are excellent, just and noble 
sentiments, admirably calculated to arouse us and to 
stimulate our energies. There is in them nothing repre¬ 
hensible ; on the contrary, they invite us to perform many 
virtuous actions, they generate generous resolutions, and 
lead us on to noble deeds. 

But if this passion is developed to excess, the sweet 
and strengthening nectar is changed into a poisonous 
draught; emulation degenerates into envy. Radically, 
the passion remains the same, it is only developed too 


304 


CRITERION. 


highly. The desire of making progress becomes an in¬ 
satiable thirst ; the pain we feel at seeing ourselves sur¬ 
passed by others, is changed into rancor against them ; 
there is no longer that rivalry which is compatible with 
friendship; there is no longer that generous feeling which 
induced us to conceal the laurels we have now, lest by ex¬ 
hibiting them, we should wound the feelings of those who 
c are less fortunate thanjvej there is no longer that nobility 
of heartpvhlch induced us to lessen the pain which others 
felt at their defeat, by sincerely praising the efforts they 
had made to insure success. These good sentiments have 
been replaced by others that are not praiseworthy; dis¬ 
like to others, anger, not at our own failure, but at their 
success, hatred towards them for having gained an advan¬ 
tage over us, a desire to rob them of the merits of their 
efforts, ill-concealed hatred, a sardonic smile, that does 
not dissimulate the agony of our soul, such are the effects 
of the passion of emulation, when it is developed to 
excess. 

There is nothing more comformable to reason than a 
proper regard for our own dignity, a decent self-respect. 
This passion prevents us from following the degrading in¬ 
stincts of our baser nature ; in the name of honor it re¬ 
calls man to the path of duty, and forbids him to disgrace 
himself by any act unworthy of him as a man ; it teaches 
him how he ought to conduct himself in every circum¬ 
stance of life ; it shines forth majestically in the counten¬ 
ance of the monarch ; it gives the priest of the Most High 
God a holy gravity and saintly unction ; it displays itself 
in the fiery look of the commander of an army, in his re¬ 
solute, courageous, imposing bearing. Regard for our 
own personal dignity prevents us from indulging in im- 



THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


305 


moderate joy when fortune smiles on us; it prevents us 
from giving way to cowardly dejection when evil fortune 
has come upon us. It shows us when prudent silence 
will do us honor ; it suggests to us words grave and sensi¬ 
ble when it is proper for us to speak ; it draws the deli¬ 
cate line between affability and excessive familiarity, be¬ 
tween candor and prudent reserve, between the polite 
manners of refined society and the uncouth habits of the 
pretentious ruffian ; it strengthens man, but renders him 
not insensible; it makes him meek and affable, but re¬ 
minds him of his own position ; it makes him indulgent 
without sacrificing his firmness of character ; it makes 
him firm and resolute without requiring him to be obsti¬ 
nate. Yet this same sentiment may be changed into 
disgusting pride,if it is not moderated and directed by 
reason ; it will make a man bear his head proudly erect; 
it will give his features an offensive air and his manners 
an affectation at once provoking and ridiculous ; it will 
make him haughty, overbearing, pretentious, cruel, and 
by impressing him deeply with the idea of his own im¬ 
portance, it will eventually make him an object of hatred 
and contempt. 

Surely reason does not condemn, but rather approve 
and recommend a prudent solicitude to provide the ne¬ 
cessaries of life for ourselves or for those who are related 
to us by the ties of blood or friendship. Reason merely 
condemns excesses, forbids prodigality, and reprobates 
licentious luxury ; it exhorts us to sobriety, to modera¬ 
tion in our desires and a love for work. Yet, this solici¬ 
tude for our temporal necessities may be excessive; it 
may command fasts which God will not accept ; it may 
condemn us to suffer heat in summer and cold in win- 



306 


CRITERION. 


ter ; it may cause us to neglect our health and to break 
down our constitution by excessive toil ; it may sub¬ 
ject our families to bitter privations ; it may harden 
our hearts and render them insensible to the prayers of 
the needy and the afflicted. This solicitude for riches 
may torment us with anxieties, with fears, with distrust 
of our friends, with cruel suspicions ; it may render our 
days troublesome and unhappy ; it may haunt us like a 
hideous spectre even in our sleep at night, for the avari¬ 
cious man on his narrow couch perspires and awakens in 
terror. 

See, then, how true it is, that even good passions may 
become bad when they go to extremes ; how true it is 
that passions, abandoned to themselves, are not safe, but 
dangerous guides. Reason must direct them.comform- 
ably to the eternal principles of morality ; it must point 
out to us what is good and useful. This is the reason 
why man can never study himself too carefully. No ef¬ 
fort to acquire that prudent moral criterion which teaches 
us practical truth—truth that must mould and shape our 
moral character—can ever be superfluous or ill-spent. 
If we blindly follow the instincts of passion, we run the 
risk of falling into gross immorality; we shall commit 
grievous blunders that will, sooner or later, bring terri¬ 
ble misery upon us. 

§ 55. SCIENCE USEFUL IN PRACTICAL LIFE. 

In all that relates to objects which are subject to neces¬ 
sary laws, it is clear that a knowledge of those laws must 
be very useful, if not absolutely necessary. From this 
I infer that those who ignore science in practical life are 
very bad reasoners. Science, if it deserve the name of 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


307 


science, applies itself to the discovery of the laws that 
govern nature ; hence it must be of the greatest impor¬ 
tance. The history of Europe during the last three cen¬ 
turies proves this very clearly. Since men began to apply 
themselves to the study of mathematics and the physical 
sciences, the progress of the arts has been truly astonish¬ 
ing. In our own day new and useful discoveries are con¬ 
stantly made, and are not these discoveries results that 
have flowed from the application of the principles of sci¬ 
ence? 

Those who reject science in practical life betray a con¬ 
siderable amount of pride that can only have its origin in 
ignorance. God has distinguished man from the brutes 
by endowing him with intelligence; if we do not use the 
light of this intelligence to direct us in our actions, we 
show ourselves very ungrateful to the generous goodness 
of our Creater. To what purpose has He given us our 
reason, if not that it might be of service to us ? If we 
are indebted to it for so many and such valuable scientific 
discoveries,'why should we not make use of it for the pur¬ 
pose of regulating our conduct in all the affairs of life ? 
The study of the natural sciences has hitherto been re¬ 
garded in Spain as unimportant, and this is the reason 
why the material prosperity of other nations is so much 
in advance o 1 that of our own country. There is cer¬ 
tainly in science much that is purely speculative, and 
that cannot be reduced to practice, yet even purely specu¬ 
lative science is not useless, nor is it a mere luxury, for 
it is frequently connected very intimately with knowledge 
that has an immense influence on practical life. The 
history of the natural, exact sciences proves this abun¬ 
dantly. What is more purely speculative and apparently 


308 


CRITERION, 


more barren in practical results than the theory of con¬ 
tinuous fractions ? Yet it was used by Huygens to de¬ 
termine the measurements of indented wheels, in the con¬ 
struction of his planetary automaton. 

Practice, without theoretic knowledge, remains station¬ 
ary, or progresses very slowly ; but, on the other hand, 
theory that is not applied practically, produces no results. 
Theory must be based on observation, and observation is 
based on practical experience. What would the science 
of agriculture be without the experience of the husband¬ 
man ? Those who apply themselves to any art, must be 
versed in the scientific principle on which that art is based. 
Carpenters, masons and machinists, can derive immense 
benefit from the knowledge of geometry and mechanics ; 
japaners, painters and other tradesmen would not be so 
frequently baffled in their experiments, if they possessed 
a knowledge of the principles of chemistry. How much 
of precious time do we not lose in studies that are really 
of no benefit whatever ? Would it not be to our own ad¬ 
vantage and to the advantage of others, if we employed 
that same time in preparing ourselves for the career of 
life, which circumstances have marked out for us ! 

It is certainly very good for a young man to be well 
versed in literature, but of what use are the classics to him 
when he has to superintend a business establishment, 
when he has to detect the defects of a machine, the ad¬ 
vantages or disadvantages of a certain undertaking, or the 
secret by which the art of dyeing has been brought to so 
high a degree of perfection in other lands. A knowledge 
of the principles of politics may be useful to the states¬ 
man, but of what benefit will it be to the architect or the 
engineer ! Will it enable them to erect an edifice, ele- 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


309 


gant, solid, and adapted to the purposes for which it is 
intended ; or to lay out a public road, to open a canal 
with masterly skill, or to build a bridge ? 

§56. THE INCONVENIENCE OF EMBRACING TOO MUCH IN 
OUR STUDIES. 

Knowledge is not acquired without many and constant 
efforts, and the time allotted to us for making these efforts, 
in other words, our life on earth, is very short; yet we 
see that men spend their efforts on a thousand different 
objects, and thus flatter at once their vanity and their in¬ 
dolence. Vanity is flattered by the fact that our know¬ 
ledge embraces such a variety of objects, and that we are 
regarded by others as men of great acquirements ; indo¬ 
lence is encouraged by the fact that less effort is required 
to obtain a smatter of general knowledge, than is required 
for mastering any one subject thoroughly. 

In industrial pursuits, we constantly consider the ad¬ 
vantages that result from a division of labor ; why should 
we not do the same when there is question of science ? 
Few men are born with abilities that would succeed 
equally well in every branch of study. Some men would 
succeed excellently, if they made some one study a spe¬ 
cialty ; but by attempting to embrace too many branches 
of knowledge, they fail in all. The evils that result to so¬ 
ciety and to individuals from such conduct, are incalcu¬ 
lable ; talent that might have attained eminent distinc¬ 
tion, is simply wasted to no purpose whatever. Van- 
causon and Watt have rendered immense services to the 
mechanical sciences; but if they had entered the field of 
poetry and the fine arts, they would not, probably, have 


CRITERION. 


310 

won any laurels. La Fontaine has immortalized his name 
by his fables; in the management of business he would 
probably have been a very unsuccessful man ; it is well- 
known, that in his dealings with others, he often seemed 
to lack ordinary common sense. I do not deny that one 
science often throws light on another of a different order, 
and facilitates the study of it considerably ; but I repeat 
it, the number of those who have it in them to succeed 
in a variety of studies, is very small, and the generality 
of men should apply themselves with particular earnest¬ 
ness to some one branch of science. We should select 
our studies with as much prudent care as we select any 
profession ; but when we have once made a choice of any 
particular study, we should make it, if not the exclusive, 
at least the principal object of our application. 

Owing to the great number of books, manuals, journals 
and cyclopedias that exist, we are easily induced to study 
a little of everything. Doubtless the multiplication of 
books denotes progress made by the human mind during 
the lapse of centuries; yet instead of being useful to us, 
it may become positively injurious ; it may extend some¬ 
what the sphere of our knowledge, but it may prevent 
us too from ever mastering thoroughly any one of the 
many subjects, with which we are superficially acquainted, 
and thus, whilst we imagine that we know much, we 
may in reality know nothing at all. 

If we would make real and solid progress, we must 
strive to turn talents into their proper channels. Let 
those who have the talents to acquire a variety of sciences, 
apply themselves energetically to the study of them, but 
let each one strive to master thoroughly the subject that 
is most congenial to his tastes, and most adapted to his 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


31 


abilities. One single science or art may demand our 
whole attention and leave us no leisure for any other oc¬ 
cupation. If we forget this truth, our intellectual efforts 
are spent uselessly; we labor in vain; we resemble a 
badly constructed machine, whose motive power is ren¬ 
dered useless, because it is not properly directed and 
applied. 

If we reflect on the intellectual movement that is going 
on in our country at the present day, we will discover at 
once the reason why science makes so little progress, 
notwithstanding the great mental activity that is every¬ 
where displayed. Our best intellectual efforts lead to no 
result for want of proper direction ; men walk on, as it 
were, at random, without considering whither they are 
going ; those who have successfully entered upon one 
career, leave it the moment another seems to hold out 
greater advantages to them; and revolution, which changes 
the lawyer into a diplomatist, the soldier into a politician, 
the merchant into a magistrate, and the judge into a 
financier, only helps to distract men s minds yet more, 
and to place obstacles in the way of progress. 

§57. STRENGTH OF WILL. 

Man seldom develops his whole activity ; he resembles 
a field that might yield fruit in much greater abundance 
than it does ; the secret of making it do so, consists in 
knowing the most proper method of cultivating it. To 
convince ourselves of this truth, it is sufficient to reflect 
how wonderfully our forces are developed and multiplied, 
when we find ourselves reduced to straits. The intellect 
becomes more active and penetrating, the heart displays 
a degree of energy and courage which it had not before ; 


712 


CRITERION. 


even the body itself seems to become endowed with new 
vigor and strength. How does this happen ? Are new 
forces created, which we had not before ? No, certainly ; 
but the forces that were dormant are aroused and made 
to act; the will is stimulated to energy by the force of 
new circumstances ; it unfolds the whole fullness of its 
activity, tends to its end with intense vigor, stirs up all 
faculties, in order to discover the means of attaining that 
end, and of using them, when they are discovered ; and 
thus we awaken, as it were, from our lethargy, and find, to 
our surprise, that we are changed into other men, that we 
are able to accomplish, what a short time ago, seemed to 
be entirely above our strength. 

The activity which we display when we are reduced 
to extremities ought to teach us how we are to avail 
ourselves of our latent forces in the ordinary affairs of 
life. In order to attain an end, it is, generally speak¬ 
ing, enough to will it resolutely and firmly, to be afraid of 
no obstacles and to shun no fatigue. We often fail in 
our attempts, because we have no determined will to suc¬ 
ceed, but only a feeble, inefficacious desire ; we will a 
thing and we do not will it; we would be in earnest about 
it if it were not necessary to arouse ourselves from our 
sloth, to submit to some fatigue, and to surmount some 
obstacles ; we are unwilling to attain what we would aim 
at, at the cost of such efforts ; hence we make no vigorous 
use of our faculties ; we march slowly on our way, and 
stop at one half of the road. 

§ 58. FIRMNESS OF WILL. 

In order to bring a difficult enterprise to a nappy 
termination it is necessary to possess great firmness of 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 313 

will. This firmness of will enables us to rule ourselves, 
and this is the first thing we must do if we would succeed 
in managing affairs. We all feel that two different men 
live and act in us ; one is intelligent and active, possesses 
great elevation of thought, generosity of desires that are 
conformable to reason, and resolution for great and ardu¬ 
ous undertakings. The other man is stupid, drowsy, in¬ 
capable of noble desires, or generous resolutions; like, 
an unclean reptile, he is ever dragging himself along on 
the ground, and is in constant agony, because he is afraid 
that he may be forced to lift up his head. This man has 
w no recollection of yesterday ; his soul is not troubled by 
""'~any thought of to-morrow ; for him there exists only the 
present, and this he enjoys without caring for anything 
more. TheHirstman draws advantage _ from the experi¬ 
ence of the past; he takes the future into careful con¬ 
sideration ; he has other interests to attend to than those 
of the present moment; life is for him too vast to be 
limited merely to the fact that affects him at the present 
instant. The second man believes that pleasure and en¬ 
joyment is the only object of man’s existence. The first 
man regards himself as a rational creature, formed to the 
image and likeness of God; he is ashamed to be ever 
grovelling on the ground, and nobly raises his head to 
contemplate the heavens. He understands his lofty posi¬ 
tion in creation ; he understands his own dignity, his 
origin and noble destiny, and hence he soars high above 
sensitive objects, and makes duty, and not pleasure, the 
great end of his existence. 

If we would make true and solid progress we must use 
all the strength of our will to overcome the inferior, ig¬ 
noble man in us, and to fortify the noble, the superior 


314 


CRITERION. 


man. He who controls himself will easily obtain con¬ 
trol over circumstances. A firm and constant will, will 
by itself alone, independently of our other qualities, do 
much to overcome whatever stands in its way. 

Obstinacy is doubtless a very serious evil ; it induces 
us to despise the counsels of others, and to adhere vio¬ 
lently to our own determinations, when reason and pru¬ 
dence would advise a contrary course. We must be care¬ 
fully on our guard against this evil, as it has its root 
in pride, and is easily contracted. Nevertheless it may 
be safely affirmed, that obstinacy is neither as common 
nor as pernicious in its consequences, as inconstancy. 
The inconstant man is incapable of ever bringing any 
great or difficult enterprise to a happy termination ; he 
never remains steadfastly engaged in any one undertak¬ 
ing for any length of time, but passes on constantly from 
one to another, and thus never concludes anything ; the 
first obstacle he encounters, makes him abandon what 
he has begun ; he is afraid of every little danger and 
fatigue; he is completely controlled by his passions, by 
the persons with whom he has to deal, by the circum- 
cumstances in which he finds himself. Obstinate in his 
desire of constant change, he disregards the counsels of 
prudence and reason, and will not consult even his own 
interests, how important so ever they may be. If we 
would guard ourselves effectually against the evil of incon¬ 
stancy and acquire firmness of will, we must have settled 
convictions, and accustom ourselves to observe method in 
all our doings. It will often happen, that unforeseen cir¬ 
cumstances and events will compel us to modify the plans 
we have formed ; yet this ought not to prevent us from 
forming them, and it is surely no reason why we should 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


315 


allow ourselves to be carried away by the current of events, 
without knowing whither we are drifting. Was not reason 
given to us, that it might guide us in all our actions ? 

It may be laid down as certain, that he who will adopt 
the~~advice we have here given, and act systematically and 
with mature deliberation, will attain his end much more 
easily than those who act differently ; if they are his part¬ 
ners in any undertaking, they will act under his direc¬ 
tions ; without pretending it, he will be their natural 
leader ; they will follow him, without perhaps ever know¬ 
ing that they do so ; if they are his antagonists, he will 
defeat them, though he may not have as many resources 
at his command as they have. 

A tranquil conscience, a well conceived object, and a 
strong will, these are the conditions of success. These 
require sacrifices, it is true ; they imply a considerable 
amount of self-control, and courage that shrinks not from 
fatigue; but in the intellectual, in the moral and in the 
physical order, in the affairs of time, and in the affairs 
of eternity, the crown of victory is reserved for him that 
fears no struggle. 

§ 59. FIRMNESS, ENERGY, IMPETUOSITY. 

Firmness, energy and impetuosity of will, are not one 
and the same thing. They are three qualities distinct 
from each other; they do not always exist together in the 
same subject, and may even exclude each other. Im¬ 
petuosity proceeds from an excessive excitement of the 
passions ; it is the movement of a will that is carried 
away by passion. Energy requires something more than 
a simple excitement of the passions ; for that excitement 
may be only momentary, and energy demands that it be 



316 


CRITERION. 


kept up for at least some notable space of time. Impet¬ 
uosity causes an explosion ; the shot goes off, but the 
missile falls to the ground at a short distance from us; 
energy, too, causes an explosion, but it is not so noisy 
and violent; the ball whistles through the air, and hits 
the mark at a considerable distance. Firmness of will 
requires neither the one nor the other ; sometimes it is 
even incompatible with them ; it admits passion, and 
frequently even stands in need of it; but it is a passion 
that is constant, enduring, and developed with great regu¬ 
larity. Impetuosity either demolishes at one stroke every 
obstacle~it encounters, or it is itself destroyed; energy 
bears up in the struggle for a somewhat longer time, but 
it, too, grows weaker by degrees. Firmness removes the 
obstacles that are in its way, if it can do it; if it finds 
it impossible to do this, it suspends its action for a 
time, and awaits patiently a more opportune time for 



It must not, however, be supposed, that firmness is 
always incompatible with energy, or even with irresistible 
impetuosity. It may wait for a long time for the proper 
moment to act, but its patience may become exhausted 
in the end, and then it is the more liable to form extreme 
resolutions, inasmuch as its object has been well con¬ 
sidered and decided upon a long time before. A man 
who possesses firmness of will, may seem to lack all 
energy and to be cold in his dispositions ; but a fire burns 
in his bosom, that may at any time burst forth into de¬ 
vouring flames, and he is never more terrible than when 
he arrives at the fatal moment, when he says: Now is 
the time when it must be done ; his fiery glance is firmly 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 317 

fixed on his prey, he rushes on it with an impetuosity 
that breaks down all opposition. 

Moral forces are like physical forces: they must be 
economized. Those who spend them lavishly, lose 
them ; those who use them with prudent economy, will 
possess them in greater measure, when the proper time 
of applying them arrives. Not those who are ready at 
any moment to rush into a work, sh ow the greatest de¬ 
termination of will; the most impetuous characters some¬ 
times cede to opposition, or grow violent, if you do not 
oppose them. Men who possess great firmness of will 
generally despise little things, they consider them un¬ 
worthy of their attention ; hence in their intercourse with 
others they are generally condescending, pliable, friendly, 
and willing to oblige. But when some great affair pre¬ 
sents itself and gives them a fit opportunity to display 
their strength, or when a small affair has reached a point 
where condescension is no longer possible, then they be¬ 
come impetuous like a lion, and firm as a rock. 

This firmness of will, which makes us brave in struggle 
and strong in suffering, which triumphs over opposition 
and fears no obstacles, which is not disheartened when it 
meets with no success, and is not overcome by shocks, how¬ 
ever violent; this firmness of will, which may render us as 
cold as an iceberg, or as hot as a volcano, which, ac¬ 
cording to times and circumstances, depicts on our coun¬ 
tenance the terrific storms that agitate our interior," or 
gives to our features a serenity that is simply appalling ; 
this firmness, which is to-day what it was yesterday, and 
will be to-morrow what it is to-day, without which it is 
impossible to bring any great undertaking that requires 
time and patient labor to a successful termination ; this 



318 


CRITERION". 


firmness of will, which characterized the great men who 
have shone like brilliant meteors on the world’s horizon, 
the men who live yet in the monuments they have erected, 
the institutions they have founded, the revolutions they 
have caused or controlled ; this firmness of will, which 
endowed with invincible strength, the valiant conquerors 
of mighty empires, the founders of new religions, the 
discoverers of new worlds, which has caused inventors to 
devote their whole lives to one idea, has enabled states¬ 
men to remodel society, to imprint on it forms which it 
has retained for ages ; this firmness of will, which changes 
an humble friar into a Sixtus or a Ximenes, which op¬ 
poses itself to Protestantism, like a wall of bronze, at 
the foot of the Pyrenees, throws an immense army into 
England, and hears of its destruction without being dis¬ 
turbed, subjugates Portugal, conquers at St. Quentin, 
erects the Escurial, and in an obscure corner of the 
cloister, calmly and serenely awaits the approach of death, 
whilst the silence of the cloister is broken by sobs and 
the halls of Philip resound with cries of anguish, and 
the city grows frantic at the rumor that the king is dying—, 
this firmness of will is the child of one idea and one sen¬ 
timent—of one clear, vivid, firm, mighty idea, which ab¬ 
sorbs the intellect, fills it to its utmost capacity, and sub¬ 
jugates it completely to itself; of one strong, energetic 
sentiment, which masters the heart and is itself subser¬ 
vient to the idea. The idea and the sentiment are each 
indispensable; if one or the other fails, man wavers and 
is incapable of doing anything great. The idea is the 
light which shows us our way, the sentiment is the im¬ 
pulse, the moving power. When the idea is not vivid 
the will is irresolute ; when it is not firmly settled in the 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


319 


mind, the will vacillates; when it is not clear, the will 
knows not what to choose. On the other hand, when 
the sentiment is not strong, when it is not proportioned 
to the idea, the intellect may contemplate the idea with 
complacency, perhaps even with a degree of enthusiasm, 
but the soul remains inactive, she cannot soar so high ; 
she wills nothing, or if she does, at the first obstacle 
which she encounters, she becomes discouraged and re¬ 
nounces the project. The force of these two elements— 
the idea and the sentiment, is surprisingly great, it is not 
only felt by him who has them, but electrifies those with 
whom he comes into contact. What an irresistible in¬ 
fluence does not such a man possess over others ? He 
has in himself something mysterious that seems to trans¬ 
form him into a being of a higher order. Men worship 
him as they would worship an idol;they have unbounded 
confidence in him, he has only to say the word and they 
will obey. Let his orders seem ever so imprudent or un¬ 
reasonable, men will think that he knows more than they, 
and they will submit. “He knows what he is about,” 
said the soldiers of Napoleon, and they rushed into the 
savage conflict and died like heroes. 

In the ordinary affairs of life, it is not necessary to 
possess this firmness of will in so eminent a degree as I 
have explained it, yet it is always useful, and sometimes 
even necessary, to have it in a measure suited to our 
talents, character and position in life; The advantage 
which some men have over others in the management of 
affairs, consists, to a great extent at least, in this, that they 
are determined to succeed in what they undertake to ac¬ 
complish. He who lacks all firmness of will, is unfit for 
any important undertaking. Great undertakings demand 


320 


CRITERION. 


great strength of will, for little undertakings less strength 
will do, but for all undertakings some degree of strength 
is necessary. The difference lies in the end to be at¬ 
tained. Great men and little men are directed by thought 
and act through the force of the will. Both derive their 
firmness of will from ideas and sentiments. The atom 
that is carried through the air by the gentle wind, is sub¬ 
ject to the laws that govern the movements of the planet. 

§ 60. CONCLUSION AND RECAPITULATION, 

A criterion of truth is a rule or standard by which truth 
is unerringly known. Truth in things is their reality 
Truth in the intellect, is the conformity of the under¬ 
standing to the object known. Truth in the will is the 
conformity of the will to the laws of sound morality. 
Truth in our conduct are the actions which proceed from 
an upright will. In proposing to ourselves an end, truth 
is that which, in the circumstances in which we are placed, 
is proper, just, or of duty. There are various classes of 
realities. There are likewise various ways that lead to 
the knowledge of truth. We must not view all things in 
the same manner, but in the manner most proper to each 
thing in particular. Man has received a variety of facul¬ 
ties. Not one of them is useless, not one is intrinsically 
bad. If any one of them produces no results, or if it 
produces bad results, this happens through our own fault; 
we make a bad use of it. A good logic must embrace 
the whole man, because truth is related to every one of 
man’s faculties ; to cultivate one and neglect another, is 
frequently to injure the one and ruin the other. Man is 
in himself a little world ; his faculties are many and di¬ 
verse, he needs harmony, and harmony results from just 


THE PRACTICAL INTELLECT. 


321 


combinations ; there can be no just combinations, when 
every thing is not in its own place, does not exercise the 
functions proper to itself, or suspends them, when they 
should be exercised. When man allows some of his fa¬ 
culties to remain inactive, he resembles a harp, that lacks 
some of its chords ; when he makes a bad use of these 
faculties, the instrument is out of tune. Reason acts 
coolly, but sees distinctly ; we must stimulate its action, 
but we must not dim its vision. Passions are blind, but 
very strong ; we must therefore direct them properly, and 
avail ourselves of their aid. Let the intellect be subject 
to truth. Let the will be subject to moral laws; let the 
passions be subject to the intellect and will ; let reason 
enlighten, direct and enoble all, and you have a complete 
man, a man par excellence . In him, reason has the su¬ 
preme direction ; it throws light on the realities of life ; 
the imagination gives them colors, the heart gives them 
spirit and life, and religion gives man the finishing touch, 
and makes him like unto God. 


THE END. 











































































































! ; ■ 








































































































- 



































































• - 























































V 



















































































* 















THE BEST BIBLE HISTORY\ 

FOR SCHOOL OR FAMILY USE. 


LESSONS IN BIBLE HISTORY. By a Teacher. Published with 
the Approbation of His Eminence The Cardinal Archbishop 
of New York. I Vol. i2mo. 468 pages. Elegantly Illustrated 
with nearly 200 Engravings, neatly and strongly bound, $1.25. 
It is bound up also in three separate parts, at 50 cents each. 

EXTRACTS FROM NOTICES OF THE PRESS. 

[From the Catholic World.] 

Experienced teachers usually prepare the best school-books. The 
compiler of these Bible lessons is a lady of remarkable talent, who 
has spent many years of most successful labor as a teacher in an 
academy for young ladies which deservedly enjoys the highest repu¬ 
tation. Her book is one which has been prepared during this long 
course of teaching, and thus practically tested, as well as continu¬ 
ally improved. It is now published with the direct sanction of his 
Grace the Archbishop of New York, after a careful revision made 
under his authority. She has shown uncommon tact and judgment, 
and has always kept in view her true object, which is to prepare a 
text-book suitable for young pupils of from ten to fifteen years old. 
The style and method are admirable for brevity, clearness, and a 
graphic picturesque grouping of events and characters The deli¬ 
cacy with which every narrative, where immoral and criminal acts 
are involved, shuns the danger of shocking the innocent mind of 
children by contact with evil of which it is ignorant, in exquisite. 
The questions about morals which necessarily suggest themselves to 
the quick, inquisitive minds of children, and which the author has 
often had to answer in class, are solved prudently and correctly. 
The interval between the sacred history of the Old Testament and 
that of the New has been filled up from profane authors, particularly 
Josephus, which is a great addition to the value of the book, and 
throws light on the narrative of the Gospels that makes it more in¬ 
telligible. As a school-book this is. the best of its kind, in our 


2 


opinion, and we expect to see it generally adopted in Catholic 
Schools. We cannot too cordially recommend it to teachers and 
parents for their young pupils and for family reading. Many 
adults, also, will find it the best and most suitable compendium of 
Bible History for their own reading. 

[From the Catholic Record.] 

“ This is a very excellent class-book. There is one feature about 
it, however, which distinguishes it from most works of a similar na¬ 
ture, viz., the supplement forming an historical connection between 
the Old and New Testament. There is, generally, an unfortunate 
void in this portion of ecclesiastical history. The book of Macha- 
bees, taken as the conclusion of the Old Testament narration merely 
because it is the last of the Old Testament books, yet between the 
date of the historic facts narrated therein and those which mark the 
opening of the New Testament history there is a period of one hun¬ 
dred and thirty-seven years, which is usually regarded as a sealed 
book, by compilers of Bible History, a fault which the author of 
this has happily avoided by the introduction of his chapters on 
Judea, under the Asmonean Dynasty.” 

[From the Catholic Citizen.] 

“ O’Shea, of Barclay street, New York, has published a Bible 
History, which we are very glad to have the opportunity of noticing. 
No Bible History of this class which we have previously seen could 
fairly be said to be unobjectionable. The use of the Bible lan¬ 
guage, whose figurative form is often more or less unintelligible to 
the juvenile mind, always seemed to us an objection to school Bible 
Histories, more especially from the presentation of many passages 
in the Old Testament calculated to shock the sense of morality ac¬ 
quired from the code of the New Law. Every objection has been 
removed in this fine and cheap work, which, intelligibly illustrated 
by a multitude of wood-cuts, and extending to 480 pages i2mo, is 
offered at the extremely low price of $1.25. We strongly recom¬ 
mend patrons of schools throughout the State to place this book in 
the hands of every child under their care.” 

[From the Catholic Review.] 

“It is all that can be desired.” 


3 

[From the Boston Pilot.] 

“On examination we can say that this book is a decided acquisi¬ 
tion to our present stock of school and home books.” 

[From the Catholic Telegraph.] 

“Prepared with great intelligence and care.” 

[From the Catholic Universe.] 

“It may be read with profit by young and old. The binding is 
strong and the typography most excellent.” 

[From Rev. J. M. Finotti.] 

“These ‘Lessons in Bible History’ surpass all kindred works 
published within my memory in this country.” 

From the Manhattan and De La Salle Monthly.] 

“ Here is not only a well directed effort, but a noble achievment 
in the way of giving a clear and comprehensiue narrative of Bible 
History. It is true to say that it holds the'marrow of the interest 
of Holy Scripture. * * * The whole forms a book of great use¬ 

fulness, suitable as a handy reference to Bible History for the library 
of any intelligent person, as well as a School class-book. It is in 
this respect the best book we know.” 

P. O’SHEA, Publisher, 

37 Barclay street and 42 Park Place, 

NEW YORK. 


. 
































I 


















S' 





















